


The One Where Yuri Has an Existential Crisis

by Guanin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Yuri Plisetsky, Asexuality, M/M, Making Out, Otabek Altin is a Good Boyfriend, Panic Attacks, Sensuality, Sexuality is hard, Yuri curses, some talk of sex but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Yuri wants to have sex with his boyfriend.Does he really, though? What the hell is sexual attraction, anyway? Could he be asexual? How did one 100% enjoyable makeout session with Otabek turn his world completely upside down?
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW Panic Attack in Chapter 1
> 
> Sex is talked about, but there's no actual sex in the fic.
> 
> It starts right after Yuri's Welcome to the Madness performance.

Yuri shivered in the dim light of the room, his muscles sore and trembling from his exhibition skate, fabric clinging to his body from the sweat that continued to bubble up despite the event being over. He’d rushed back to the hotel as soon as he could, Otabek in tow, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ears, the exhilaration of putting all of himself on display on the ice, his fury, his determination, his fear, his desperate, furious roar of “I am Yuri Plisetsky! I’ll be greater than Victor Nikiforov ever was!” As he’d collapsed on the ice in a choreographed descent, felled by Otabek’s finger gun (a last minute addition created with a playful smile as Otabek observed his practice run the night before), Yuri’s heart had thundered, his panting loud in his chest, inaudible over the cheers of the crowd surrounding him. After he’d picked himself up, he’d skated straight to Otabek with laser focus, grinning at his languid posture against the edge of the ice rink, his cocked head, the teasing smirk barely tugging at the edge of his lips and eyes, his regard only for Yuri. The phantom sensation of his hand and teeth yanking off Yuri’s gloves vibrated on his skin and it took all the energy Yuri had left to not grab Otabek and kiss him right then and there. But he wasn’t an exhibitionist like Victor, no matter what the media would say after this performance. His desire for Otabek was his alone.

So they’d returned to Yuri’s room sooner than intended, Yuri grabbing Otabek’s hand in the elevator, Otabek slipping an arm snuggly around Yuri’s waist, silently inquiring for confirmation that this was okay. Yuri had nodded, tugging him closer. They’d never done anything more than a few touches here and there. Holding hands. Chaste kisses. Otabek hadn’t wanted to press. He might not have admitted his attraction at all if Yuri hadn’t caved one night after hours spent talking on Skype, too jittery and tired to keep putting away his suspicions and secret wants any longer.

“Do you like me?” he’d asked, his mouth dry, heart in his throat, refusing to look away from the screen despite his desperate urge to do so.

Otabek hadn’t looked away, either, studying Yuri’s face for so long that Yuri almost screamed in frustration. 

“Romantically, you mean?” Otabek had asked, barely a question.

“Of course I do.”

 _I like you_ Yuri almost breathed, but he chickened out at the last second, terrified to put himself out there any more than he already had for Otabek to reject him if he was wrong. 

_Why is he taking so long to reply? Why?!_

“Yes.”

Yuri had gasped. 

Now, inside Yuri’s hotel room, Yuri let the door fall closed, making sure the lock clicked before pulling Otabek to him, hands on his shoulders, vibrating with eagerness as he kissed him. A moan escaped him before Otabek placed one hand on his nape, the other at his waist, allowing the kiss, but not participating as ardently as Yuri had expected. He pulled back, hurt, but Otabek cut off his protest.

“You’re sure about this?” Otabek asked, his hands firm, gentle, not straying from their positions. 

Yuri tightened his grip on him.

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I weren’t, would I?”

The overhead light cast shadows over Otabek’s face, disguising his expression, making his serious gaze impossible to read as he scrutinized Yuri’s face to catch him in a lie. Irritation spiked through Yuri. He may be young and inexperienced, but he knew what he wanted.

“Don’t treat me like some kid—” Yuri barked before Otabek closed the distance between them and stopped his mouth with a kiss.

“Does it look like I’m treating you like a kid?” Otabek breathed against his lips. 

Desperate in his urgency, Yuri yanked off his jacket and pulled himself up to wrap his legs around Otabek’s waist. With a surprised grunt, Otabek grabbed him by the thighs to hold him steady and backed into the room. As he was carried, Yuri kissed Otabek’s mouth, his jaw, his cheeks, his neck, pulling at the collar of Otabek’s jacket, hungry for every inch of skin he could reach. Otabek sat down on the sofa, Yuri straddling him. 

Why not the bed? Never mind. That could come later. Or they could do it right here. Although, it would be more comfortable on the bed for Yuri’s first time. He hadn’t admitted not having experience to Otabek, but he must have guessed. Else what had that question been about? Otabek stroked up Yuri’s back, fingers slipping under the fabric strips at the back of Yuri’s top. Yuri’s breath shuddered, his skin tingling under the exploratory touch, and he pulled up Otabek’s t-shirt, doing some exploring of his own, delighting in the firm muscles that met his hands, the chest rapidly rising with Otabek’s own disordered breathing, the heat of his body, the pounding of his heart as Yuri reached that spot and settled there, relishing his heartbeat. Otabek yanked off Yuri’s hair tie and let his hair fall loose on his shoulders. He buried his hands in it, pressing against his scalp, murmuring soft endearments in Kazakh. Eyes slipping closed, Yuri’s head fell back, leaning into Otabek’s hands, gripping Otabek’s waist, slipping down to the waistband of his pants.

He stopped, a breath caught in his throat. Dread crawled up his spine in a timid wave.

Why was he hesitating? He wanted this. All he had to do was take off his pants, reach in the table drawer for the supplies he’d gotten as soon as his plane landed, get comfortable on the bed, and… 

“Yura?”

Lie back, spread his legs… Or would it be better if he topped? Would Otabek like that? He didn’t… He wasn’t sure… Maybe he shouldn’t. Not the first time. It was hard enough…

“Yuri.”

…Lying back would be easier. Let Otabek guide him, do all the heavy lifting as it were. Yes. He could…

He could…

Get naked. Lie back. Let Otabek get him ready, then…

He couldn’t breathe. Panting. Loud. In his ears.

Whining. Who was doing that? Was it him? Why was everything numb? There was a voice, talking. Otabek? 

“Yuri!”

Hands on his face. Otabek stared at him, eyes wide, worried, speaking his name, imploring him to breathe. He was deposited on the sofa, Otabek pulling away. Yuri grabbed his left hand before he could leave him and disappear. 

_I’m fine_ , he tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat, withering on his tongue. Why couldn’t he breathe properly? What was wrong with him?!

“I’m not going anywhere, Yura,” Otabek said, holding Yuri’s hand, which Yuri clutched in both his own like a lifeline. If he let go, he’d be adrift, shipwrecked in the panic screaming inside him. “You need to breathe. Please breathe for me.”

He was trying, goddamnit! Why was this happening now?! He was having fun! He liked this! Kissing Otabek. Being in his lap. Having s—

He curled up in a ball, legs crushed to his chest, face buried in his knees, and rocked back and forth, Otabek’s hand clutched in his own.

Otabek started talking. Yuri’s hearing was fuzzy. He didn’t understand the first part of it. Once he could distinguish the words, he realized Otabek was recounting his last trip to Moscow, when he’d had so many delayed and rerouted flights that it’d taken him almost two days to get there. Yuri had heard this before. Why was—

He was trying to calm him down. Distract him with something banal. Something other than what Yuri couldn’t… What he couldn’t… 

He wanted to have sex with Otabek, didn’t he? They’re just had fucking foreplay, for fuck’s sake! Yuri had initiated it! He’d liked it! It had been amazing! This made no fucking sense!

“…lucky enough to get the last room available in the entire area…”

Focus on Otabek’s words. The touch of his hand. Breathe. That’s what he had to do. Just breathe. 

Breathe. 

Otabek next to him, holding his hand. Soothing him. Going on about airports and hotel vouchers. Caring for him. Wanting him to feel better. To be okay. 

But he wasn’t okay! 

Inexperienced. That must be why. Yuri wasn’t ready. He would be eventually. He would want to…

He shut his eyes with a muffled shriek of rage and despair. But he was breathing. He was no longer gasping like a drowning man. 

“You can stop now,” he said, throat aching, closing his eyes to avoid seeing his face for a moment longer. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You’re not fine.”

A sigh dragged from deep within Yuri’s lungs. He lowered his legs, but dropped his head forward, releasing Otabek to bury his face in both hands. What had he done? They’d been having fun. Why did he have to mess everything up? 

“I don’t know what happened,” he mumbled into his palms.

Christ, that was awful. Did Otabek even understand what he said? 

“Yura.”

Otabek’s voice was so soft, so gentle, so… pitying.

No. Otabek wouldn’t pity him. He had more respect for him than that. 

“I’m sorry,” Otabek said.

Yuri jerked up, narrowing his eyes at Otabek, who was looking down at his hands in his lap, guilt written all over his face. The hell?

“Why are you apologizing?” Yuri asked. “You helped me. You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who wrecked things.”

Otabek turned to him, his eyes so sharp and determined that Yuri flinched inwardly.

“You didn’t wreck anything, Yura. I should have stopped what we were doing before you worked yourself into such a state. I should have known you weren’t ready.”

Fury burned through the embarrassment churning in Yuri’s belly.

“You asked me if I was sure. I said I was. Get off the high horse, will you, please? Just because I’m inexperienced doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

He was trembling. From nerves? The panic attack he’d just had? Anger? Humiliation? Otabek’s eyes softened. They rarely did when looking at others, but they often did for Yuri. 

“People don’t have panic attacks while doing something they want.”

Yuri braced his feet on the floor, fighting the urge to run out of the room, out of the hotel, out of the city entirely. 

“I enjoyed it, okay?” he said, voice trembling. “I like kissing you. Touching you. You touching me. It was only when…”

He froze, words too heavy and damning in his mouth.

“When what?” Otabek gently prodded.

Yuri sucked in a breath. 

“I thought about having sex.”

His voice was so low he feared that Otabek hadn’t heard him, but then Otabek’s eyes widened in shock and horrified realization. Why was he so surprised? Weren’t they on the same page? Didn’t he know what Yuri intended? 

“You weren’t going to have sex with me?” Yuri asked.

Otabek didn’t speak, fumbling, brushing back his hair with an unsteady hand as he shifted on the sofa.

“I didn’t plan on it, no.”

Oh.

“I thought we’d make out for a bit,” he continued. “That’s it. I didn’t know you were thinking about doing that. I would have stopped you, anyway.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me?”

“Not now, so soon. You may complain about me making too big a deal of your inexperience, but look how you reacted just now. You’re not ready for this, Yura.”

Yuri fought and lost the urge to hug himself. He pulled his legs back up, trying to bury himself in the couch, to disappear, to swallow the shame and embarrassment burning in his body. 

“You scared me,” Otabek continued, leaning toward Yuri again, but stopping just short of touching him. “I never want to see you like that again, much less be the cause of it.”

“You weren’t. Didn’t you hear me? I liked it.”

“I heard you. But we still pushed ahead too quickly. We need to slow down. Think about what we both want.”

What we both want? Did that mean… Was Otabek rethinking his relationship with Yuri?

“Why were you trying to have sex with me?” Otabek asked. “Is it because you thought that’s what I wanted?”

Yuri gripped his legs more tightly, chewing on his bottom lip, his jaw so clenched that it hurt his teeth. 

“I did. I also thought I wanted it. I wanted to make out with you, so why wouldn’t I?”

Otabek’s narrowed with that pensive look that Yuri still struggled to read when Otabek retreated into his mind and didn’t wish anyone else to divine his thoughts. Most of the time it merely made Yuri curious, but now he yearned to scream and demand to know what Otabek was hiding from him.

“You assumed one went hand in hand with the other,” Otabek said, voice low, still figuring stuff out. “It doesn’t always. I didn’t have sex right away when I started doing this stuff. I wasn’t ready. You’re obviously not ready, either. There’s no need to rush. I’ll wait for you however long you need.”

A knot unspooled in Yuri’s belly. Not completely. It still yanked at him like a thorn jammed in his neck, but enough for him to sag against the sofa and collapse on Otabek, tugging his right arm over him, clutching his hand to his chest, closing his eyes as he breathed in the sweat and smell of Otabek’s soap as he buried his face in his shoulder, wishing that this could be enough, that they could just sit here forever and not suffer the torture of the tangled and contradictory thoughts assaulting him. He felt more spent than he ever had, even after the most grueling, punishing performance. Muscles that were already sore from skating ached harder, praying for rest, his soul joining their plea as he sniffled onto Otabek’s shirt, hating his reaction to something which he’d sworn he’d been prepared for, kicking himself for making Otabek worry, for making him think that he’d messed up when it was all Yuri’s fault for pushing too hard, too fast, just like when he’d snuck in quads before his developing body was prepared for them, so cocky, so arrogant. Assuming he’d want sex because it was Otabek and he craved, fantasized for months about kissing him, holding him, cherishing him with eager lips and teeth and hands. He wasn’t ready. It was too soon. He’d get there. He would. He…

In any of those fantasies, had having sex with Otabek actually been part of it?

He wracked his brain, searching for a scrap of thought, anything, but… 

What was he going on about? They’d just established that he was too inexperienced to…

All his rink mates in Juniors had been dreaming about sex for ages before they even had it. Yuri was sixteen going on seventeen, goddamnit! What did it mean that he’d never thought about it until now?! For he hadn’t, never about getting naked with someone. Ever. That’s never what he focused on. But they went hand in hand, didn’t they? There was a reason why it was called foreplay. And he liked looking sexy, wearing this skimpy top that displayed his entire back, dancing suggestively on the ice, seducing Otabek to strip the gloves off his hands, the second one with his teeth. What could be more sexual than that? It didn’t make sense otherwise, did it?

Did it?!

“Yura?”

Otabek was squeezing his fingers and looking down at him with maddening worry. Yuri bit down on a scream. He couldn’t do this. He needed to figure this out, to know why he was thinking such ridiculous things. 

“Thank you,” Yuri said, fingers fumbling on Otabek’s hand before he sat up, brushing his hair out of his face, clinging to the strands for far too long. “I think I need to… I need to think.”

Alone.

“Of course,” Otabek said, so accommodating, so concerned. Yuri wanted to burrow onto his chest and sleep for a week. “I’ll check on you in the morning, okay?”

He gave Yuri’s hand another squeeze and kissed his forehead. Yuri’s heart broke at the gentle, loving touch, not knowing why. As Otabek stood up, the urge to yank Otabek into a kiss seized him. He rushed to his feet, grabbed Otabek by the back of the neck and pressed his trembling body to him. Otabek touched his waist, but he didn’t move more than to return Yuri’s kiss for the merest moment before stepping back and brushing the hair off Yuri’s forehead. 

“Good night,” he said. “Please, try to sleep well.”

Yuri nodded, but he doubted that he could. 

“I’ll try,” he said. “Good night.”

An “I’m sorry” flew to his tongue, but he swallowed it down. Otabek wouldn’t want him to apologize. With a reassuring smile that didn’t do anything to melt the ice in Yuri’s spine, Otabek walked away and left the room, the door shutting with a sharp click behind him. 

Groaning, Yuri fell back on the couch and dug his hands in his hair, pulling, scratching, folding himself in a sorry ball of pain and confusion. He hiccupped. The hiccup turned into a sob, which turned into tears falling down his face, soaking the cushions straining in his hands.

`````````````````

Yuri didn’t sleep. He was too amped up and miserable to sleep. Instead, he lied in bed in a heap of misery, phone glued to his hand, scouring the internet for information. 

_What does it mean when you don’t want sex?_

_What does it mean when you want to make out but not have sex?_

_Do I really not want sex, or am I simply not ready?_

There was an easy answer to the first question. He knew it already. He could be asexual. 

But he didn’t want to be! He didn’t know much about it, but it sounded so difficult. He’d seen the woeful laments, aces frustrated at not being able to find a partner because they didn’t want sex. Otabek said he’d wait for Yuri to be ready, but what if he never was? Would he wait forever? He liked sex. Could he do without just for Yuri? 

He just wasn’t ready. That was it. That had to be it. He couldn’t accept that not being it. So what if sex dreams were boring and not tantalizing like they were for other people his age? Late bloomers were a thing.

_I thought I was just a late bloomer. It turned out that nope. I’m ace._

Yuri groaned, burying his face in the pillow to escape the damning words from the blog post he’d pulled up. Was he just lying to himself? He’d gotten plenty of practice in that. But it wasn’t fair! He wanted to be with Otabek, to hold him, to make him happy, to not have to fear that Otabek would leave him when he got bored of celibacy no matter how much he insisted that Yuri didn’t have to do that for him. 

Maybe he was demisexual. Yeah, that worked. He may not have sexual urges now, but later, once his feelings for Otabek grew enough, then that part of his body would finally wake up and want to do the things that now made him gag. 

Who the fuck was he kidding? Once his feelings grew enough? How much more did they need to grow? He was pretty sure he’d been in love with Otabek since summer, since before he even asked him if he wanted to be boyfriends. He thought about him all the time, thought of kissing him, of sending him funny memes and videos, of sexy picture poses he could tease him with, of listening to music together, of watching Otabek play guitar, of his smile, so rare and often reserved just for him. Just the thought of Otabek leaving him made his heart tear and bleed and an animal scream rip up Yuri’s throat, his body weak and trembling on the bed. 

He needed help. But how could he ask one of these ace blogs about it? 

He could be anonymous. No one had to know that the great Yuri Plisetsky, who had just delivered a seductive performance that had Yuri’s Angels screaming at how sexy he was, was having doubts about being sexy at all.

But see, that was the other thing. He loved looking and acting sexy. Wearing provocative clothing. Teasing the audience with a seductive pose. And kissing the hell out of his boyfriend. What the hell did that mean?!

Growling, he jerked up and folded his legs under him, pulling up his text app. It was one in the morning, but fuck it. Yuuri was the only ace who Yuri knew well enough to ask, and Yuri was losing his mind. He had to ask someone. Yuuri didn’t flaunt his asexuality, but he was out. He even had an ace flag pin on his skate bag. It was in the shape of a poodle, a present from Victor. Victor who Yuri knew for a fact had sex before meeting Yuuri.

Maybe he still did. For all Yuri knew, Yuuri liked sex or didn’t mind having it for Victor’s sake. 

Pursing his lips, Yuri sent him a text.

_Are you awake?_

_If you are, you better answer._

Nothing. Of course not. At this hour, he was either asleep or…

Never mind. Yuri called. 

No answer.

Dropping the phone, Yuri grabbed a pillow and covered his face, muffling a scream. This couldn’t wait until the morning. He needed advice now!

After calling again got nowhere, he called Victor instead. After the fourth ring, a groggy Victor answered the phone. 

“Yura?” he mumbled. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know that.”

“’S something wrong?”

Fuck yes.

“No. Is Yuuri there? He won’t answer his phone.”

The rustling of sheets came over the phone.

“He’s here. Are you sure nothing’s wrong? Where are you?”

“In my room. And that’s none of your business. Will you please pass me to Yuuri already?”

Victor grunted in displeasure, but a moment later Yuuri’s voice finally came over the line. 

“Yuri?” Yuuri asked, his voice rough with sleep. “What is it? Are you okay?”

Yuuri bristled.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? Can’t I just want to talk?”

There was silence on the line. Yuuri was probably blinking owlishly, making that “let’s treat Yuri like a feral kitten until he calms down” face that Yuri hated. It was so patronizing. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Yuuri asked, all practiced politeness, as if Yuri were an unruly guest at Yu-topia.

Yup, he was definitely making the face. 

“I, uh…”

Yuri faltered. It was one thing to think “I need to talk to Yuuri”, but quite a different one to actually ask something like this.

“Can you come over? To my room? It’d be a lot better in person than over the phone. I need advice.”

“Advice on what?”

Yuri gripped the sheets, fiddling with it with restless fingers. 

“I need to um... Ask about asexual stuff.”

He hated how small and scared he sounded, but it got the job done, for Yuri immediately responded.

“I’ll be right there.”

Yuri hung up and flopped down on the bed, feeling like a rag that had been dragged all over St. Petersburg. A moment later, he shot to his feet and began to pace, brushing his hair into some semblance of order, fixing his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, figuring out how long it would take Yuuri to get here from the next floor up. 

He’d nearly scratched a hole in his shirt when Yuuri finally knocked on the door. Yuri ran over and yanked it open. Yuri had a robe over his pajamas and wore bright blue bunny slippers. Actual bunny slippers. Really?

Never mind that. There were far more important things going on than Yuuri’s childish taste in clothes. Like, for example, the look of concern and expectation that Yuuri was fixing on him despite the wrinkles on his face from his pillow and the yawn half-buried behind his hand.

“Get in,” Yuri said, stepping briskly into the room, his arms back around his chest. He usually hated to be seen so worked up, but he was the one who asked, practically pleaded, for Yuuri to come here, and a little self-hugging would be the least embarrassing thing he’d reveal tonight. 

“How are you?” Yuuri asked, standing by the table where Otabek had forgotten his headphones. 

Yuri stared at them, feeling sick and hot at once. 

“Did something happen with Otabek?”

Yuri jerked to a stop at the question, staring at Yuuri with narrowed eyes, a defensive invective flying to his tongue before he realized that Yuuri wasn’t speaking accusingly, but rather trying to figure out why Yuri had woken him up in the middle of the night. Yuri lowered his head, sucked in a breath, and opened his mouth. 

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

“Yes,” he said, finally shoving words out. “He didn’t do anything to me if that’s what you and Victor are worried about. He’d never hurt me.”

Unless it was to break up with him because Yuri couldn’t give him everything he wanted. Yuri clenched his teeth before continuing.

“We came back here after my routine. We made out. I liked it. I really did. But then I thought about having sex with him. I assumed we would. I wanted it. Or I thought I did. But then I… I had a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. Otabek calmed me down. We talked. He thinks I’m not ready. Says that he’ll wait for when I am. That he won’t push me. But I’m not sure if… If I…”

Yuri scratched his head, grabbing his hair, his right leg jiggling on the floor.

“How do you know if you don’t want to have sex because you’re inexperienced or if you simply don’t want it?”

As Yuri spoke, Yuuri had sat down at the table, his eyes never leaving him. Understanding flashed on his face.

“Well, uh, there’s no easy answer for that. At your age, I didn’t understand why sex was such a big deal, so I guess I did know I didn’t want it. But later on I thought maybe I was a late bloomer and I’d understand what people were talking about eventually, but…” He shrugged. “It never happened.”

“So you don’t—”

Yuri clamped his mouth shut. He could _not_ ask if Yuri had sex with Victor. Unfortunately, Yuuri had figured out his aborted question already.

“If you’re wondering whether I have sex now,” he said. “I don’t.”

“But Victor…” Yuri grimaced. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I know that. Nor do I want to know what you two do.” It wasn’t like Victor was his parent or anything, but thinking about him doing _things_ was still gross. “But Victor does like sex. I know he does. Or I think he does. I know he’s had it anyway.” Argghhh, why couldn’t he talk like a normal person?! “My point is, it is possible to be in a relationship with someone who wants sex when you don’t want it?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Thank god. Yuri dropped into a chair, melting into it like spilled ink, and sagged against the backrest.

“I was scared about that at first, too,” Yuuri continued. “I didn’t tell him I’m ace for the longest time, although when I finally did, he said that he’d suspected after I said that I needed to think about pork cutlet bowl to perform Eros.”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, looking shyly at the table. 

“I thought that was weird,” Yuri said, crossing his arms and tapping on one of the table legs. “If it weren’t for the banquet, I’d have figured you’re ace immediately. It was really obvious, only…”

Only that Yuuri had stripped to his underwear and danced on a pole with all the grace of a drunk stripper next to Christophe Giacometti, the horniest person Yuri had ever met, then proceeded to all but grind against Victor after dancing with him so seductively that half the room had yanked out their phones and hit “record”. As furious as Yuri had been when Victor abandoned him to fly off to Japan, he hadn’t been too surprised. He’d assumed that he and Yuuri were screwing like bunnies in between training sessions. Wow, had he been wrong. 

Wait a minute. Yuuri had acted incredibly sexy in public, yet he didn’t like sex. Sure, he had been drunk, but it still counted, right?

“I know,” Yuuri said miserably, pink to the tips of his ears in embarrassment. He hid his face in his hands. “If I’d been sober, I would never… I’m glad I don’t remember anything. Well, mostly glad. I do wish I remembered dancing with Victor. But not the… The… Oh god.”

“The stripping and pole dancing?”

Yuuri whimpered, shrinking in his chair like a wilting flower.

“Oi! This is my anxiety crisis, not yours. Calm down, Katsuki.”

Yuuri moaned, but he slowly unwound himself and lowered his hands, looking less than a kicked puppy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You’re right. I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around.”

“That’s not… Never mind, it’s fine. But since we’re on that subject, you were acting very, well, sexy that night.”

Yuuri groaned again. Yuri winced.

“I’m not saying that to embarrass you. My point is, you can do those things and not like sex. That’s a thing. It’s not a contradiction?”

“I’ve never, ever done anything like that when I’m sober. Ever. But…” Yuuri grew pensive. “No. I suppose not. You’re thinking of your exhibition skate yesterday, right?”

Yuri nodded, his legs wiggling faster.

“And making out with Otabek. I liked doing that stuff. I wasn’t forcing myself or anything. I wasn’t. I’ve analyzed it every way I can think of for hours.

“That’s okay. And good. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Some aces like being sexy. Others don’t. Kissing, touching, sex, that all goes for everything else. You can like or dislike as much as you want.”

Yuri slumped on the table, some of the tension that had been eating him alive for hours easing in his stomach. So it was possible? 

“But how do I know if I really don’t want sex? Or if I’m even ace_ I’ve pored over ace Tumblr posts and blogs, and they all keep saying about how it’s about not feeling sexual attraction or only sometimes, and there’s all this talk about sexual desire, versus libido, versus sexual urges. It’s all so confusing. I can’t make sense of it. What the hell is attraction anyway? And then there are all these different categories. Sensual, romantic, platonic.” He frowned. “I’m forgetting one.” 

“Aesthetic.”

“Yes, that one. Why does this all have to be so complicated?”

And why did Yuuri have to look at him so pityingly? It was infuriating.

Alright, so he wasn’t really pitying him. He was trying to be comforting and kind, and Yuri was probably bringing up memories of when he’d had to figure all this out. If Yuuri Katsuki could make sense of the madness of sexuality and attraction, then so could Yuri, damn it! Yuuri would not best him in this! 

“I wish it wasn’t,” Yuuri said. “I was frustrated too when I was figuring it out.”

“How did you? Figure it out?”

“Phichit did, actually. He’s much better at social media than I am, and sent me some links when I admitted that I’d never been in a relationship because, well, I wasn’t interested. At least I wasn’t then. I liked looking at pretty people, but I didn’t get this urge to want to be with them like that or have sex with them. I just liked looking.”

“Including Victor?”

Yuuri nodded.

“But nothing else?”

Yuuri shook his head. 

“Not until I got to know him. Or that’s what I thought before you all told me what I did at the banquet. Maybe I did have a crush on him like that and it was buried deep down? I don’t know. I’ve thought about it a lot. I thought it was just hero worship, but I don’t know. But it was completely different after I got to know him. I suddenly felt something I hadn’t felt before. I wanted a relationship with him, a romantic one, and I wanted to kiss him, but I don’t think I’d ever want to have sex with him. The thought of doing that with anyone, even him, is…”

“Unpleasant,” Yuri finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Yuri dropped his head on the table, pillowing his chin on his arms, and stared at the surface with deep, overwhelming misery. 

“I know you’re looking for a clear cut answer,” Yuuri said, “but there isn’t one when it comes to these things. 

No shit. Yuri exhaled sharply out of his nose, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen across his eyes.

“I think I’m in love with Otabek,” he said after a while.

Yuuri emitted a sound of surprise.

“I looked into demisexuality,” he continued. “But if my feelings are already this deep, sexual feelings aren’t likely to bubble up, are they?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really my area. They could. It’s possible, but… It’s probably better to assume that they won’t. Hoping for something that doesn’t happen might be worse. And it’s okay if they don’t. There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t want to—”

“I know,” Yuri said, much too sharply, too obvious, too shaky, for he did think that there was something wrong with him, deep down, if he couldn’t give Otabek everything he wanted. 

But he didn’t think there was something wrong with Yuuri, did he? Not this, anyway. Although, not even the other stuff he complained about. He was just winding him up, being cranky, not that he would ever admit that to him. 

“I know there isn’t,” he continued, throat tightening. “There’s nothing wrong with you or any of the other aces out there, so logically there can’t be anything wrong with me, but I can’t help feeling like there is. I don’t want to—” He yelled into his hands. “I know it’s terrible to say it, but my life is hard enough as it is. I don’t need this on top of it. And what if Otabek is only fine waiting as long as sex is something that happens eventually? What if this is a dealbreaker? And what if it is for the person who comes after him, and the person after that? I’ve read the horror stories. It’s half of what I’ve been doing during the past three hours. You seem to be one of the lucky ones. So many people think they’ll never find a partner because they don’t want sex.”

“I understand what you’re feeling. I thought that Victor would reconsider after I told him, but he didn’t. My assumption was wrong. Wait until you speak with Otabek. He cares about you. Maybe he won’t have a problem with it.”

“But maybe he will,” Yuri cried miserably before jerking to his feet and collapsing in a ball on the couch. Until he remembered that this is where he had last been with Otabek, where he’d freaked out and Otabek had to calm him down, and where they may have shared their last kiss ever. Growling, Yuri shot across the room and dumped himself on the bed, only just resisting the urge to yank the sheet over his head and never come back out. 

Yuuri followed him and sat beside him on the bed. Yuri didn’t look up from the blanket he was trying to rip apart, but the stubborn fabric wouldn’t budge. Might as well. Yakov would throw a fit if the cost of replacing it showed up in the room bill. 

“It will be okay,” Yuuri said. “I can’t promise that it will be now, but it will be eventually.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Yuri grumbled. “My future might be horrible. You have no way of knowing.”

“I guess that’s true. But you’re too stubborn of a person to let that happen.”

Yuri hmphed. 

“It takes a while to figure out this stuff,” Yuuri continued. “It’s important not to rush it. But you will figure it out. At least you’re getting it out of the way early. I was in my twenties when I did. You have a head start over me.”

“I always have a head start over you,” Yuri said, but there was no bite in it. It was bullshit, anyway. Hot Springs on Ice proved it. 

Groaning, he fell back on the bed, arms spread out dramatically, and stared at the ceiling. It was as unhelpful now as it had been before. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice small, his chest squeezing, fear curdling his stomach.

“Try to get some sleep, then talk to Otabek in the morning. If you want to talk to me again afterward, just let me know, okay?”

Yanking a pillow off the bed, Yuri hugged it to his chest, not caring how childish he looked. After discussing sex with Yuuri Katsuki, of all people, nothing could embarrass him now. 

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Shockingly, he did manage to fall asleep at some point, awoken only by a knocking on the door. Moaning, Yuri turned over and pulled the covers over his head, wanting to kill whoever was rude enough to disturb his desperately needed rest of existential despair.

Hang on.

Otabek!

He said he’d check on Yuri in the morning. Was it morning? Sunlight was streaming at the edges of the curtains, which were pulled taut over the windows, and the clock said…

11:45?! Where was his phone?

Five unread messages, all from Otabek, starting at 9:33. Cursing, Yuri shot out of the bed so quickly that he tripped over the blanket, falling against the mattress with the dignity of a drunk pigeon. Ripping the sheet from his feet, he ran to the door and opened it, only in that moment noticing that his t-shirt was riding up his stomach and a big chunk of hair was plastered to his forehead. Christ, he probably had wrinkles from the pillowcase, too. He rushed to brush his hair and shirt down, grimacing an apology at Otabek, who was peering at him in concern.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuri babbled. “I didn’t hear the phone. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to bed late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Otabek said, stepping inside as Yuri retreated to give him space to do so, slipping into the bathroom to get a good look at the damage.

He was a mess! His hair was up in tufts, a braid half undone and soggy. Bags loomed under his eyes and a spiderweb of lines from the sheet were engraved on his left cheek and arm. To add insult to injury, a zit had grown on his chin overnight. Of course it had. Why not look like death warmed up in a microwave during one of the most nerve-wracking conversations he’d ever had in his entire life? Grumbling under his breath, he started undoing the pathetic braid.

Otabek peeked his head in the doorway, making Yuri jump in surprise.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about looking your best, you know, especially not after I dragged you out of bed.”

“I’m not leaving my hair looking like this.”

“I think it looks kind of cute.”

Cute? Yuri frowned at Otabek’s reflection in the mirror, then back at the bird nest that was his own hair. 

“You have weird tastes,” Yuri said, but a smile tugged on his face. 

Braid undone, Yuri grabbed his brush and began untangling. 

“I like you,” Otabek said. “Brushed well. With bedhead. It doesn’t matter.”

Yuri’s hand spasmed at the word “bedhead”. That term was usually applied when someone got out of bed after having sex, wasn’t it? That couldn’t be what Otabek meant, not after his reassurances last night. But he was thinking about it for some point in the future, wasn’t he? 

“Yura.”

Yuri grit his teeth at the concern in Otabek’s voice. His worry must have shown on his face. Shit. _I’m okay_ , he almost said, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t okay. Yuuri was right. He had to talk to Otabek. Had to know once and for all if Otabek was okay living a sexless life for however long their relationship lasted, whether that was twenty years or five minutes after he figured out how to let Yuri down gently. 

“If you’re embarrassed about what happened last night,” Otabek said, “you shouldn’t be. It’s normal.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled in Yuri’s throat. Normal? What did normal mean anymore? Yuri didn’t fucking know. 

“Yura, can I…”

Otabek was reaching for him, his hand hanging in the air halfway to Yuri, frowning at him with worry, afraid that he might set Yuri off into yet another fit if he touched him. God, how had everything gotten so screwed up? Yuri nodded, not trusting his own voice, not yet, not when his throat was trying to strangle itself. Stepping toward him, Otabek cupped his cheek and jaw and brushed Yuri’s hair off his forehead and behind his ear. Barely keeping back a happy mew, Yuri leaned into the touch, wishing that they could stay like this and not have to talk, possibly ever again. Talking was overrated, anyway. 

“I was going to ask if you’re okay,” Otabek said. “But it’s obvious that you’re not.”

Huffing in despair, Yuri shook his head and grabbed Otabek’s hand, lowering it between them, clinging to it as if it were the last time, which it very well might be. 

“I talked to Yuuri last night about what happened,” Yuri said. 

Otabek looked surprised, but not upset.

“Okay. Did he help you figure things out?”

Yuri sighed.

“Yeah. Not that I have anything figured out. Well, a little. I think. I… There’s a lot I didn’t know, or had thought about. I may have—I did assume certain things that turned out to be completely wrong, and not just that you were going to have sex with me. It's great that you didn’t because, well, panic attack. Also…”

He bit his lip. His breath shuddered and he swallowed down an internal scream.

“What?” Otabek asked, his voice soft, so comforting. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

An inhale trembled in Yuri’s mouth. 

“I think I… I might be asexual.”

Silence. Otabek stared at him in surprise. A scream of misery and rage at his own pathetic self rose in Yuri’s throat, clamoring to be let out. He stepped back, hand slipping out of Otabek’s own, ready to say that it was okay if Otabek broke up with him, that he didn’t expect that he would stay with him out of pity, that it was better to get it over with now rather than days down the road once Otabek felt that enough time had passed to come up with another excuse to break up. 

But the moment when Yuri’s fingers were about to leave Otabek’s grasp, Otabek grabbed his wrist, twining their fingers together, apprehension and confusion in his eyes. 

“Wait, Yura. Don’t pull away. Please. I’m not upset, just surprised.”

Yuri’s breath froze. He dared not ask if that was really the case, waiting for the anvil to drop on his head. 

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you,” Otabek continued. “I just need a moment to think.”

Think. Yeah. That’s where the “I don’t know if I can deal with this” came in.

“That’s why you spoke to Yuuri,” Otabek asked.

Yuri nodded, both wanting to tug his hand out of Otabek’s grasp and to curl up against him and never let go. 

“He said that obviously he can’t tell me if I’m ace or not, but he thinks I am. I think…” Could his voice please stop shaking?! “I think he’s right. I went over and over it in my head, looked at a million blogs and Tumblr and twitter accounts. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I am inexperienced like you said. Or I am a late bloomer, as unlikely as that sounds when I’m nearly seventeen. But you never know. Maybe I will want sex someday.”

Otabek touched his face again, urging Yuri to look up from the spot on the counter where he’d been staring to not have to see whatever was happening on Otabek’s face. Disappointment. Regret. Pity. 

But when he did raise his gaze, Yuri didn’t see any of that. Otabek was regarding him with so much care and concern that Yuri wanted to cry, then run and hide in the closet. Fucking irony that would be. 

“I’m not going to break up with you,” Otabek said.

Yuri gasped. Had he been that obvious? His voice was trembling, basically pleading. Of course it was that damn obvious! 

“You don’t have to stay with me just so I won’t be sad,” Yuri said. “When you said you’d wait, we both know you didn’t mean forever.”

“I hadn’t considered it. I did expect that one day… But that doesn’t matter. I want to be with you. Sex. No sex. If all you want to do is make out… Or even if you don’t—”

“I do. I really do. I wasn’t lying about that. I really did enjoy it. It’s just this, not at all small detail that I can’t… Do you really mean it? You won’t change your mind someday when you get tired of not getting any?”

“I’d much rather not have sex and be with you than have sex with someone else.”

Yuri stopped breathing. Otabek didn’t lie. He had neither the face nor the inclination for it. He was direct, blunt, and completely honest unless it was to pretend that he liked Yuri’s violently pink jacket, which Yuri knew he didn’t, but Otabek went along with it anyway. He was telling the truth. He wasn’t going to dump Yuri. He was staying. He didn’t think Yuri was deficient for not wanting to engage in this form of intimacy that was considered to be so basic by society. 

Fuck society. What the hell did they know? 

Hardly daring to breathe, Yuri fell against Otabek and kissed him, wrapping him tightly in his arms, too limp with worry and relief and sleep deprivation to do anything more than lean against him, tears spilling from his eyes. Otabek held him, murmuring soft reassurances like he had last night, letting him whine and sob until there was nothing left in him but exhaustion and a desperate urge to sleep for a week with Otabek held fast at his side. Embarrassment buzzed over his skin. He felt ridiculous. Why couldn’t things just be simple? But Otabek wasn’t going away. He was staying. For now, anyway. He might change his mind later. Not even he could know for sure that he wouldn’t, but Yuri wouldn’t keep pushing the matter now. he didn’t want Otabek to feel like he didn’t trust him, because he did. He really did. So if Otabek really believed right now that he could live with this, that he’d rather be with Yuri despite having to go without sex, then…

Love swelled so sharply in Yuri’s chest that he might as well be a gushy romcom in a human body. It only got worse as Otabek led him out of the bathroom, an arm around Yuri’s waist, Yuri leaning against him to stay upright, his legs gummy, throat aching from so much crying in such quick succession, sniffling loudly to keep snot from running down his nose. Grabbing a tissue box from the table, Otabek handed it to him. Yuri murmured “Thanks” before taking a tissue and turning away to blow his nose. 

Several tissues later, they were sitting on the bed, not the couch that Otabek had tried to lead him to, because Yuri couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore. Would Yakov be too incandescently angry if Yuri shoved it off the balcony and burned it? It might be worth it. Never mind that the irony of discussing not having sex while sitting on a bed made him want to break down in hysterical laughter and surrender himself to the insanity that had become his life. 

“So,” Otabek said, so careful that Yuri wanted to crawl out of his skin. “Did you ever suspect that you’re asexual before last night?”

Yuri shook his head, legs tucked tightly against his chest. 

“I had no fucking clue. In hindsight, I should have, shouldn’t I? I never fantasized about having sex. That should have been a hint, shouldn’t it? But I did fantasize about kissing, and other things, some of which we did last night. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t all the same thing? I didn’t really know much about this until last night. I can’t remember how many posts I looked at. I gave up and called Yuuri because they were making me dizzy and even more confused.”

“Do you also like… Some of the pics you send me are pretty, well… sexy. And your skate last night. You’re not forcing yourself to do that because you feel like you should, are you?”

“No! I haven’t—” He groaned in frustration. “I haven’t been faking anything. Please stop worrying about that. The only thing I was lying to myself about was thinking that I wanted to have sex, which wasn’t so much that as assuming that because I wanted the other stuff, I also wanted that, and since it’s you, well, maybe you would, you know, that I’d finally want it with you. I mean, I don’t know if I was thinking that consciously or if I figured it out last night. I don’t know. I’m a mess. You should know that. I’m a giant mess right now.”

Otabek placed his hand between Yuri’s shoulder blades and rubbed small circles on his shirt. Yuri tugged his hand up just enough so Otabek’s fingers slipped past his collarbone and touched the bare skin of his nape. A smile flickered on Otabek’s face. It looked like relief. Was he afraid to touch Yuri now? God, of course he was. Not that he hadn’t been careful with him before, but everything was different now. Felt different. And Yuri couldn’t even give him a clear answer about what he wanted. 

“Everyone’s a mess about this stuff,” Otabek said. “I was when I realized I liked boys, too. Weren’t you when you realized you’re gay?”

Yuri shrugged.

“I guess. It was way more straightforward than this, though. Girls don’t interest me. Boys do. Okay, then. But this has so many categories and subcategories and there’s a whole model of attraction that’s broken up into pieces no one had the decency to inform me about. How the hell was I supposed to know that not everything is the same thing?”

“The split-attraction model?” 

“You know it?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t studied it or anything.”

Yuri fished out his phone from where he’d left it on the pillow, ignored the dozens of notifications, and pulled up one of the ace blogs. Once he had the relevant post up, he handed the phone to Otabek and scooted closer to look over his shoulder. Because he still could and he damn well wanted to, he wrapped his arms around his torso and leaned on him, head against his shoulder. 

“Hm,” Otabek uttered after a while. “So you feel some of these, but not others?”

“Apparently. Sexual attraction is definitely out. At least… I’m so confused. I read all this stuff about sexual attraction versus sexual desire or urges or whatever, but… Why does this have to be so damned complicated?”

“People are complicated. There’s nothing for it.”

Why did Otabek have to say wise things all the time? It just made him more charming.

“I guess,” Otabek continued, “it’s the difference between having the urge to have sex, like having the urge to eat, but not for something or someone specific. You just want to do it. And attraction is when you’re attracted to a specific person that way.”

Yuri considered for a second.

“That makes more sense than anything I read last night. Are you sure you’re new to this?”

Otabek shrugged. 

“I”m just making sense of it along with you. Have you ever wanted to have sex?”

Yuri bit his lip before shaking his head.

“If I have, I can’t remember. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of attraction, either. I thought, because I want to do other stuff, that it’s the same thing, but Yuuri says it isn’t. I guess I never thought about involving, well, those body parts.”

Heat rose in Yuri’s face, his voice lowering to nearly a whisper.

“Maybe I will some day,” he said much too quickly, so desperate that it was pathetic, even though Otabek wouldn’t think so. “That’s a thing that can happen. But I don’t think…” Yuri sighed. “There probably isn’t a point holding my breath for it.”

“Okay.”

Otabek really didn’t sound upset by this. Not at all. His boyfriend had just told him that sex was probably never going to happen, yet he didn’t seem mad or disappointed. He had been shocked before, but now he was behaving as casually as if Yuri had confessed that he hated Otabek’s favorite movie.

No. Scratch that. He’d be absolutely offended if that were the case. 

Otabek turned, frowning at Yuri.

“What is it? You’re looking at me funny.”

Was he? Fuck, he was. He thought he’d let all his feelings out when he cried, but there were plenty left to hound him, particularly his complete awe and gratitude at Otabek for being the best boyfriend ever. What special power did Otabek possess to render Yuri a helpless puddle of emotional goo? First when he’d rescued him from his deranged fangirls. Then when he all but demanded that Yuri be his friend. There were too many later instances to count. When he gave Yuri the perfect song for his exhibition skate. When he’d admitted that he was attracted to Yuri. When he’d made Yuri laugh while sitting at a café in Barcelona. Him, Yuri Plisetsky, who had never had a proper friend before, only competitors and rink mates whom he would never speak to about something so private and intimate. 

“Ignore me,” Yuri said, leaning back, afraid to speak lest he spill every emotion roiling in his brain. “I’m just surprised, is all. That you’re taking this so well.”

“Yura.”

God, how Yuri loved how Otabek said his name. Soft, yet firm, an affectionate gesture and a confirmation that he had Otabek’s undivided attention. 

“You’re impossible to ignore,” Otabek continued. “You always have been. It’s ridiculous to expect me to be able to do so now.”

He sounded so serious, as if it truly were an impossibility, and Yuri was daft for suggesting it. Yuri snorted, the knots in his chest loosening. 

“I’d be highly offended if it were so easy,” Yuri said, summoning some of his usual confidence into a teasing tone and smile that he only partly felt.

“Don’t ask me to, then. I confess, this is a lot. It’s confusing. But it’s about you, so I want to understand it. Did you really think I would be displeased when you told me?”

The blanket scrunched in Yuri’s fists. He looked down, biting his lip, ashamed to meet Otabek’s eyes.

“I didn’t know what to expect, but a lot of aces, their partners reject them when they tell them, and I read so many horror stories, and we’ve never talked about sex before. Our relationship is so new, being boyfriends, anyway, so yeah, I did think that maybe, you’d want to back out. I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I understand why you would worry about that. But I’m not going to reject you, I promise.”

Otabek touched his shoulder and Yuri immediately wrapped him up in a tight hug, pressing his face to his collarbone, kissing his shirt, his heart bursting in his chest. God, he was such a sappy mess.

“You’re the best boyfriend in the world,” he said fervently. “I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”

Otabek stroked his head, a smile in his voice as he replied.

“I try. Though I don’t think I’m doing a great job right now.”

Yuri jerked up. Guilt pinched Otabek’s face, his lips pursed in displeasure at himself, that expression that Yuri hated seeing most of all.

“Didn’t I just say that I’d fight anyone who said otherwise? That includes you.”

“A better boyfriend would have noticed your discomfort earlier.”

“How the hell? I didn’t even fucking know and it’s me we’re talking about here. You haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing. Do you understand me? Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

A smile tugged on Otabek’s lips, the sight so beautiful that Yuri wanted to cry all over again. 

“Okay, Yura.” 

Otabek stroked Yuri’s forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, the touch of his lingering fingertips making Yuri’s breath hitch, his limbs trembling, not with panic this time, but with fierce gratitude and love. 

“I will still try to do better, though,” Otabek said. “Don’t argue with me. I want to and I will.”

“I don’t see how you possibly can, but sure. Have at it.”

“I will. You can’t stop me.”

As much as Yuri strove to hold onto his stern veneer, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his face. He kissed Otabek, gripping him tightly, sinking into his mouth and body, yet not with the fervor of last night, but as if Otabek were the plushest, most comfortable bed in the world after a whole day of training, muscles sore and aching to sleep for twenty-four hours at least. How had he been lucky enough to have this cool, caring, intelligent boy notice him? Sure, Yuri poured all of his sweat, blood, and tears into being noticed, but as a competitor, as a rival to beat, as the greatest skater on Earth once he finally took Victor’s crown. Otabek had looked beyond all that and seen him. Not only Yuri Plisetsky, Grand Prix winner, but the Yuri who liked spending hours playing The Legend of Zelda, the Yuri who was sick and tired of being besieged by crazy fans all day long, the Yuri who snuck in a bite of illicit chocolate whenever Yakov or Lilia weren’t looking, who spoiled his cat rotten, who had every song from his favorite band memorized, who had a closetful of awesome trainers, who loved his grandad, and who didn’t know how to feel when his mom called out of the blue when she remembered that she had a son. 

How could Yuri have thought that Otabek would abandon him after all that? Stupid. He was so stupid. Otabek would never. He was perfect. Even if he did have awful taste in movies. He was the best boyfriend in the whole world and Yuri better make damn sure that he knew it.

`````````````

Once Yuri’s stomach protested his accidental fasting with a loud growl, the discussion was tabled for a bit to order room service. Yakov expected him to follow a strict regimen for the whole trip, as did Otabek’s coach, but they immediately agreed to throw that out of the window and ordered a pair of huge, juicy burgers. It wasn’t like either of them would be performing in public any time soon, and Yuri needed comfort food, damn it! He was a flaming mess of a human being right now. He deserved a greasy, fat laden burger with extra fries. 

While the food was being prepared, they returned to the split-attraction model, evaluating each item one by one. 

“You definitely feel aesthetic attraction, yes?” Otabek said with a shadow of a smirk. “I know you like looking at me.”

Yuri snorted. 

“Best sight I’ve ever seen. I’ve always liked looking at people. The whole linger for ages, mind going numb type of thing. That’s what it’s like for you, right?”

Otabek nodded. 

“For me, these are all mixed together. The same thing, I suppose. It’d never occurred to me that they could be such discrete experiences for other people. Although I’m not romantically attracted to everyone I’m physically attracted to, so I guess that can be a separate thing for me too.”

“Would you ever have sex with someone you’re not attracted to? I read that some people do.”

Otabek shook his head. 

“I’m not interested. I’d be bored. Sensual attraction is the one you do feel that you confused with sexual attraction, right?”

“Apparently. It’d be nice if someone told me there’s a difference.”

“That’s the thing. It’s the same for me. But I’m not you.”

“I’d love to be you right now. You know for sure what you feel and what you don’t. I’m confused as fuck.”

Otabek smiled ruefully. 

“That’s now, not when I was figuring out I’m bi. I was a mess, too.”

“At least you didn’t have to divide how you’re attracted to people into little categories. It seems easier that way.”

Otabek looked pensive.

“I guess so.”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of their food, lunch for Otabek and breakfast for Yuri, never mind that it was nearly 2pm by now. They sat at the table, Yuri immediately lunging for one of the burgers and chomping down, filling his mouth with meaty goodness. He moaned with pleasure, ketchup, mustard, and onion dancing a salsa song on his tongue. 

“I needed this so much,” he said, or rather tried to, for his mouth was so stuffed with food that only a bizarre mumbling emerged.

“I have no idea what you said,” Otabek said, looking amused. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You’ll bite yourself.”

For a punk who rented a motorcycle everywhere he went, Otabek sure loved mothering sometimes. Yuri did have a tendency to bite his lip when speaking while eating, so he took his advice without complaint. For the next few minutes no one spoke, Yuri too busy eating while Otabek ruminated in silence, his pensive frown on his brow. He was probably analyzing all that he’d learned today, only in a calm, collected manner instead of Yuri’s “why am I so weird?!?!” panic mode. 

“You really don’t mind if people see you as sexy, right?” Otabek asked once Yuri had finished inhaling his burger and had moved on to the fries. “If I—”

“I don’t,” Yuri cut him off before Otabek could keep beating himself up about yet another wrong he hadn’t even done. “Stop worrying about that, please. I don’t mind whatever you think or don’t think about me when you’re in bed or dreaming or whatever. I really don’t. And I’m not going to stop wearing sexy clothes now, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

Yuri nudged Otabek’s foot beneath the table for extra emphasis, and was rewarded with a soft, teasing smile. 

“Okay.”

He had asked about more than himself, though. Was he thinking of last night’s performance? Probably. Yuri had gone all out with the sex appeal. Or, sensual appeal? Was that a thing? Yeah, it clearly was a thing. He was doing it, wasn’t he? Except that he hadn’t been thinking about it that way, so what the hell was it? Yuuri had definitely been playing sex appeal with his Eros, even when he had been thinking about a pork cutlet bowl. Christ, why couldn’t things just be simple?

Grabbing his phone, Yuri did something which he normally avoided like a poisonous rash. He googled himself. Otabek shot him a sharp look, eyes narrowing with perceptive caution, guessing at what Yuri was looking for. 

Several articles appeared about the exhibition skate, most focusing on Yuuri’s and Victor’s, cooing over their lovey doveyness and “Victor Nikiforov’s triumphant return”. Yuri scowled, scrolling by to get to his own coverage, closely examining the reviewer’s descriptions of his “tantalizing” performance.

Risqué. 

Dazzling. 

Sexy. 

Too sexy? 

_Yuri Plisetsky’s sexual awakening._

_Despite being only sixteen years old, Plisetsky delivered a performance so charged with sensual passion as to give Christophe Giacometti’s brazenness on the ice a run for his money._

Yuri scoffed. As if he’s been trying to imitate that stripper reject’s act. 

“I looked at that earlier,” Otabek said before finishing off his burger, but he kept a concerned eye on Yuri. “I wondered how you would take it, since your perspective has changed.”

Yuri put down the phone, slapping a picture of himself in a spin facedown and shoving a fry into his mouth. 

“It’s what I was aiming for,” he said. “That hasn’t changed. Not really. That’s still me. I wasn’t forcing any of it. But I’d rather they keep their intrusive comments to themselves.”

Sexual awakening? Fuck them. It had been the complete opposite. That performance had led to him blatantly and loudly shutting the door on anything sexual and locking it with a thousand deadbolts. 

Oh god, what were his crazy fans saying about it? They were probably all sharing their gross fantasies about him on Instagram, salivating over his body as if he were a piece of meat. Not like they hadn’t been doing so since the beginning, at least the ones who were his age or younger. But what was he supposed to do? Become a monk? Cover himself from head to toe in unflattering clothing so no one would find him attractive? He didn’t give a fuck what people thought or said about him as long as it wasn’t about how good or bad he was on the ice. Why would he feel any differently now?

So why did he feel different? Why was he mentally flinching when a commenter ogled the thrust of his hips, the lines of his pliant body as he spread on the ground at the end, the ravenous way with which Otabek had bit off his glove?

Why was he looking at the comments?! Fuck!

Dropping a half-eaten fry, he buried his head in his hands, instantly groaning as the greasy salt covering his fingers now stuck to his face. 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he moaned. “I don’t care what they think. I never have. I’m still me. Nothing about me is different. I don’t want to act any differently, don’t want to dress any differently. I just didn’t know what I’m actually feeling. But it’s not going to change anything. I won’t let it. So why? Why is it affecting me like this?”

As he whined, Otabek had moved his chair flush against Yuri’s and draped an arm over Yuri’s shoulders, tugging Yuri to him. Gratefully, Yuri burrowed onto his chest, face on the crook of his shoulder, gripping his shirt, wincing as he stained it with spices and sauce. 

“Because your view of yourself is different now,” Otabek said gently. “When I began to suspect that I might be bi, I analyzed everything about my behavior, what I thought, what shows I watched, what songs I paid attention to, everything I could think of while figuring out if it was some sort of clue that I’d missed. Or if I was flirting with guys without being aware of it or giving myself away in some other way. It wasn’t about what they thought of me, but how I viewed myself. What I knew of myself. What I was putting out in the world without being aware of it. That’s why I asked if you felt differently about your routine now.”

Oh. 

“Well, um… That makes sense, I guess. Do I have to do all that tiring self-analysis, though? Can’t I just not? I’m so tired.”

“It’s not obligatory. But you’ve already been doing it since last night, haven’t you?”

Yuri moaned into Otabek’s chest. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” he moaned. “Make it all go away.”

“I would if I could, but there’s nothing for it. Come on. You won the Grand Prix. You can do this.”

“The Grand Prix was easier. A million times easier. I’d rather have two sessions with Lilia back to back right now than have to continue thinking about this.”

“Let’s take a break, then. Let’s go out. Clear our heads.”

“That sounds heavenly. I’m sick of this room.” 

Yuri pulled himself upright and yanked his hair off his face. It was still such a mess. He’d burst into tears before he’d had the chance to brush it properly. 

That’s the first thing he did now, before even changing out of his pajamas. It was the easy part, for despite everything he’d just said, the instant that he began sifting through his clothes in his suitcase and the few he’d unpacked in the closet, he sidestepped past all the shirts with a low neckline. Not because it was winter. It was an unseasonably mild winter day in London. Yuri was accustomed to much worse. Even his skinny jeans, which were all of them, felt too snug today. Too revealing.

The fuck? Like he’d cared whether people looked at his ass and legs before. As long as they weren’t being obvious about it. That was gross. He’d just skated a salacious routine in front of the whole world in the skimpiest top he owned, for fuck’s sake. Who cared what he wore to an outing in the middle of a weekday? Who would even look at him? His fans, who were probably stalking the lobby, but Otabek and he had ways of sneaking past them. Besides, they’d be on Otabek’s rented motorbike half the time. Why was he stressing about this?! 

Growling, he grabbed the first t-shirt he ran across, a band tee with a loud logo on the front, his favorite jacket, and black skinny jeans. Also a scarf. His neck always got cold on Otabek’s bike in winter. Not because he was covering himself up or anything. It was cold! What else was he supposed to do? Go out half-naked to spite the puerile minds who insisted that flashing skin was automatically sexual? Maybe in summer, but certainly not now.

Maybe?! There would be no maybe about it!

Not that he’d do it for them! Fuck them! They didn’t even exist as far as he was concerned. 

Fuming, he yanked on his clothes and met Otabek in the corridor outside his room, where Otabek had gone to grab a jacket, two helmets, and the motorcycle key. Putting up their hoods, they made their way down to the first floor to skip the lobby in case the vultures were on the hunt, and took the stairs to the parking garage. 

Helmet firmly on his head, Yuri slipped easily behind Otabek, arms snug around his waist. The instant he did so, his chest lightened, breath coming more easily than a moment before, soothed by the solidity of this now familiar routine. How he missed touching Otabek when they were apart. Ever since the first time they rode together, Otabek arriving in the nick of time like some stereotypical knight in shining armor to rescue Yuri from his slavering stalkers, Yuri had dreamed of doing this again. Otabek had been such a confusing unknown back then. Taciturn, resting bitch face, brusque as he’d all but demanded to be Yuri’s friend, but his face had revealed far more than his irritating assessment back in the hotel lobby. He’d glanced away for a second, the sudden boldness of his question making it so obvious that he was nervous. 

Yuri was plenty familiar with covering up emotional vulnerability with a veneer of anger and annoyance. Years had gone by since Otabek had last seen Yuri in one course with a dozen other students. They hadn’t even spoken to each other. Yet Yuri had somehow made an impression on this reserved skater who never socialized with his competitors. They were both fighting for the gold, yet Otabek had chosen this moment to approach him, to confess that his skills at the age of fourteen had been so mediocre that he’d been put in a remedial class with children two and three years younger than him. Yuri couldn’t figure him out. He’d never been asked to be someone’s friend before. Friendship wasn’t something he did, really. No one had been interested in him that way, but then Otabek had come along and torn down his walls and Yuuri hadn’t seemed so annoying anymore now that Yuri didn’t feel inferior when skating against him, and Victor had turned out to not be a selfish bastard like Yuri had thought when he’d fucked off to Japan, leaving Yuri in the lurch. The transition from being friendless to being surrounded by them was strange and confusing and filled him with a warmth he’d never experienced before. Then Otabek admitted that he liked Yuri romantically, and there came another set of feelings he’d never had before. Now came this, even more bewildering and unbalancing, all within less than two years. 

Sighing, Yuri pressed his face against Otabek’s back, closing his eyes. Who cared about the grand, historic city passing by? All he wanted right now was to feel Otabek’s warm, steady body against him, pretend that he could hear his heartbeat under his jacket, feel his muscles flex as he made a turn. Every time they came to a stop, Otabek patted Yuri’s hands on his stomach and Yuri wished they weren’t wearing gloves so he could feel Otabek’s skin on his own, safe in the knowledge that Otabek would never expect any more than Yuri was willing to give. 

Otabek was right. The ride did help. 

At some point, Otabek parked on the street close to the London Eye and they went for a walk along the Thames, hand in hand, as if this were no more than a regular afternoon and Yuri hadn’t had a nervous breakdown mere hours before. The air was crisp, but not too chilly for comfort, the sky covered in the grey slush of winter clouds, pigeons hovering overhead and pecking at the sidewalk. Street artists and performers lined the walkway. They distracted themselves for a bit watching a living statue painted silver before Yuri’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Yuuri had texted him.

_How are you today? Did you talk to Otabek?_

Yuri indulged in the warmth that bloomed in his chest at Yuuri’s concern before replying.

_Yeah. He’s ok with it. I told him I told you. Didn’t tell him about you and Victor though. He says he’s fine without sex_

Treacherous worry flared in his chest again. What if Otabek changed his mind? He couldn’t possibly know how he’d feel about this six months from now, or in a year, or in two years.

 _Shut up_ , Yuri ordered himself. He trusted Otabek. He refused to let stupid fears destroy what they had when he knew better than to be hung up on unknowns when Otabek had fucking told him to stop worrying about it. Besides, they might break up for an entirely different reason in a year.

Oh god, he hoped not. The very thought made him queasy. Instinctively, Yuri leaned into Otabek, reassuring himself with the solidity of his presence. Otabek frowned at him, silently inquiring if Yuri was okay. Yuri nodded, nuzzling Otabek’s neck to hide his face before his phone vibrated with a new text.

_That’s great! I’m so glad. You’re calmer then, I take it? ___

___I guess. Still confused as fuck but I don’t want to climb the walls anymore. Thanks for last night. ____ _

_____Anytime._ _ _ _ _

____They lingered by the river for a while longer, snapping a selfie in front of Big Ben and posting it on Instagram. By the time they stopped at a little restaurant for dinner, the post was filled with notifications, including likes from Yuuri and Mila and a ludicrously sappy comment from Victor about how adorable they were. Yet despite rolling his eyes at it, a soft, warm feeling settled in Yuri’s stomach as he remembered Victor’s concern last night. It had annoyed him then, but it had been nice. If he followed Yuri’s instructions, which Yuri had no doubt he had, Yuuri hadn’t told him anything about what they spoke of, but Victor could make a good guess. After all, for how many reasons would Yuri call him in the middle of the night freaking out like that? Maybe he heard Yuri comment about wanting to talk about ace stuff. If he already knew, at least he was being decent and not asking about it. It’s not like Yuri minded Victor knowing, really, as long as it was his choice to tell him, which he probably would soon. Why not? He was already open about being gay and Victor was in a relationship with an ace person, so he would hardly judge._ _ _ _

____Was he ready to tell people yet, though? Although Victor wasn’t really “people”. He was Victor. Overshare, fall asleep on you, forget very important promises he made because his memory was shit Victor._ _ _ _

____“What are you thinking about?” Otabek asked, peering at Yuri over his pasta with a look that really wanted to ask if something was wrong._ _ _ _

____“Nothing. I’m fine. I was thinking of telling Victor. Yuuri already knows, so why not? It’s not like I haven’t come out to him before.”_ _ _ _

____Otabek’s brow smoothed out._ _ _ _

____“If you want to, I think that’s a good idea. Just him, though, or do you want to tell others?”_ _ _ _

____Yuri leaned his head on his hand and stared out the window, not really seeing the pedestrians walking by, wondering how his bizarre fans would react this time. When he’d come out as gay, he’d stayed the hell away from so much as looking at his name online for a week. He set his notifications to Friends Only. He did not want to hear about it from anyone he didn’t know personally, and not even all of them. Victor and Yuuri he told in person since they were all in Hasetsu, and that was easy since they were queer themselves. The same went for Otabek, who had come out to him a month earlier. No one was an asshole about it, which had been a massive load off._ _ _ _

____Would they be now, though? Being gay didn’t require explanation. Everyone knew what it meant. Asexuality, on the other hand, wasn’t even a thing in the public consciousness. Even LGBT groups were only just now adding a “+” to the acronym or acknowledging that the “A” in “LGBTQAI” didn’t stand for “ally”. And not even all of them, according to an irritating google search._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know,” Yuri said in response to Otabek’s question. He played with his fork, tracing lines of alfredo sauce on his plate. “Most people don’t know what the hell asexuality is. I’d have to explain it. They’d probably ask intrusive questions.”_ _ _ _

____Otabek’s face darkened with a bad memory. Or an annoying one. He got plenty of that shit himself. Bisexuality might be well known, but that didn’t mean that people knew what it actually was, or that they liked it even if they did. Otabek had ranted to him plenty about people assuming he was sex-crazed, just gay and lying to himself, or trying to cling to straight-passing privilege, as if that made any damn sense when he was making it clear that he was very much not straight._ _ _ _

____“I hate to say it,” Otabek said, looking grim, “but it’d probably be worse for you than for me.”_ _ _ _

____Yuri dropped his head in his hand and groaned._ _ _ _

____“I don’t want to explain shit to anyone,” he moaned, keeping his voice low to not attract attention. “It’s none of their damn business.”_ _ _ _

____“Then don’t. You don’t have to explain a damn thing. That’s why I’m asking what you want to do.”_ _ _ _

____Yuri kept his face buried in his hand._ _ _ _

____“I’m too tired to think about this. I don’t want to hide. It made me sick to my stomach hiding that I’m gay, now I’m going to stick myself in the closet again? Fuck that. But…”_ _ _ _

____Sitting back, he slouched against the chair, glaring at the pasta while pretending that each of the noodles was a shitty blogger with shitty opinions about Yuri’s non-existent sex life. Stabbing the fork into his food, he stuffed it into his mouth, chewing furiously._ _ _ _

____“I don’t want everyone in my business right now,” he said once he could speak again. “I’ll start with Victor. At least I know he won’t be a dick about it.”_ _ _ _

____`````````````````_ _ _ _

____The meal finished, they returned to the hotel. Normally, they would have stayed out longer, but Yuri was beat between his performance and getting so little sleep, so they holed up in Otabek’s room and played video games until Yuri’s eyes began to close with exhaustion._ _ _ _

____When Yuri was about to leave, they hesitated in front of each other, Yuri’s breath caught in his throat, angry and comforted at once at the uncertain look in Otabek’s eyes as he glanced at Yuri’s lips. If Yuri had to take the initiative every time now so that Otabek would be reassured that he wasn’t overstepping, then so be it. Cradling Otabek’s face, he kissed him, but kept it short, too tired both emotionally and physically for anything else. He exhaled softly when Otabek wrapped his arms around him, gratefully leaning into him._ _ _ _

____Back in his room, Yuri toed off his shoes, ripped off his jacket and jeans, and plopped down on the bed._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____3_ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

Most of the skaters and their coaches had already left except for Yuri, Otabek, Yuuri, and Victor, who had independently decided to stay a little longer to do some sightseeing and have a couple’s vacation. When Yuri had found out that Yuuri and Victor had the same idea, he made it very clear that just because they happened to be in the same hotel in the same city at the same time did not mean that he would allow Victor to turn this into a big group holiday like he clearly wanted to. The ridiculously gleeful smile had fallen from Victor’s face, turning into a pout and a mournful “Yurio!” whine. After much cajoling, puppy eyes, and mediation by Yuuri (who wasn’t anywhere near as nauseating as Victor in expressing his desire to get to know Otabek better), Yuri gave in and agreed to one double date dinner. 

One! 

Victor had spent the entire flight to London trying to convince Yuri to up the double dates to two, the insufferable leech. Weren’t he and Yuuri supposed to be on their own couple’s getaway? Why was he so interested in cooing over Yuri and Otabek when he could be making stupid doe eyes at Yuuri instead?

And coo he did. To get it over with, Yuri had decided to get the joint dinner done that first night, else he’d be dreading it all week. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy their company as long as they didn’t get so lost in their own little love world that they forgot that Yuri was right there gagging at their kissing noises. But under these circumstances it really was dread. Which was stupid. Yuuri was ace. There was zero chance that Victor would react negatively, so why was he freaking out about it?

Because coming out to him made it official. It was crap. Yuri could take it back whenever. It wasn’t like figuring out his identity was set in stone. Just look at the mess of the last two days. But there was something about telling Victor that felt very important somehow. They’d grown close in the past year since Victor had suddenly hugged him at the Grand Prix and murmured an apology in his ear. It had been weird at first after the shit Victor had pulled, but they were friends now. They trained together. Victor coached him as much as he did Yuuri. Yuri would never admit to considering him in any way his mentor or anything, but, well, it was accurate. If anyone asked, his only motivation to surpass Victor was out of pure spite, nothing else!

Yeah, not even he could sell that one these days. 

Not that Victor didn’t still drive him up the wall and make him fantasize about very creative forms of homicide, but even those instances had gone down lately. Yuuri was probably reigning in his fiancé behind the scenes. At least someone had finally made Victor understand that Yuri was too old to be fussed over like a child, or a kitten as people insisted on calling him for some deranged reason. He was supposed to be the Ice Tiger of Russia, not a cute kitty. 

“Little Yurio’s very first couple’s vacation,” Victor cooed.

Then again, murder might still be on the table. The geezer was even looking at him like a proud mom sending her kid off to prom. If Victor tried to take a picture, Yuri would break his phone. He wouldn’t dare make a scene like this if Otabek were here, but Otabek had sent him down first, not being quite ready when Yuri stopped by his room. 

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course Victor would be this embarrassing in front of Otabek. When was he ever not embarrassing? 

“Victor,” Yuuri hissed in his fiancé’s ears, his ears reddening as he shot Yuri an apologetic look. “You know Yurio doesn’t like to be put on the spot like this.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Victor whined. “I just meant, Yuri, you’re growing up. You have a boyfriend. You’re going on trips together. It’s exciting.”

Yuri shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets, frowning.

“It is a little exciting, I guess,” he admitted.

“Just a little?”

Yuri groaned.

“Okay, a lot. Can you stop now, please? God, you’re so embarrassing.”

Victor raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay.”

Thankfully, Otabek joined them soon and they set off for the restaurant. The three of them had managed to talk Victor out of dragging them to a fancy place where Yuri would feel like gum scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe. Victor hadn’t come from an upper class background, either, yet as soon as he got his hands on some money through his numerous advertising and modeling deals, he went all out with the luxurious apartment and elegant outings. He’d tried to rope Yuri into his decadent lifestyle, but Yuri wasn’t interested. Neither was Yuuri, which made Victor pout and Yuri laugh, but the poor sap had no choice but to compromise with his fiancé. Not that Yuri said “no” to designer gifts, but Victor could keep his stuffy restaurants to himself. They went to a normal eatery, albeit one that came highly recommended by Otabek’s friends. 

The moment they walked inside, Yuri removed his coat, revealing a tight long sleeve shirt with a low v-neckline. He’d almost put on a tank top, but that didn’t make sense in winter. What bothered him was why he’d felt compelled to wear a tank in the first place. And why he’d been extra alert about people looking at him as they walked here. Most had kept their eyes to themselves, but he had caught a group of teenagers staring at his ass. Hardly new, even if they didn’t know who he was. He’d never liked it, but he’d learned not to let it bother him as long as they weren’t creepy stalkers. This time, though… There had been three girls and a boy as they waited to cross the street. It was the boy who he’d most focused on, his hands fisting in his coat pockets as he met his eyes, challenging his ogling with a withering look. The guy’s expression of desire had swiftly shifted to an “oh shit” face. Yuri hooked his arm around Otabek’s, leaning into him as he turned away, pretending to forget the boy’s existence in that very moment. 

It was maddening. Nothing about this situation was remotely new, yet it felt different. Otabek was right. He was revaluating every aspect of how he projected himself to the world, as well as how people saw him. The discomfort which he’d learned to bury when people leered over him, which he’d learned to channel into spiteful defiance, had returned tenfold. He wilted inside, torn by the twin desires of wanting to bury himself in layers and going out in his tightest, skimpiest clothes to shove it in people’s faces that he would dress however the hell he wanted, no matter how sexual they thought it was. Their fantasies be damned. He’d been doing so well at that, hadn’t he? Two days. Just two days after giving a confident performance oozing with sensual undertones, now look at him. What a sad mess he’d become. It was bullshit. How many times would he have to figure himself out before he was done? 

Otabek had noticed his distress, but Yuri shook his head, muttering that it was the same crap as before. Yuuri had shot him a concerned look while Victor gazed at him with a silent question, no doubt guessing that this had something to do with Yuri’s freak out the other night, else he wouldn’t be staying quiet. 

“I’m fine,” Yuri had hissed, taking the lead to get them to quit staring at him as if he were a weakling prone to collapse at any moment. 

He was no calmer once they were seated in the restaurant. No one may be ogling him anymore, but every minute was a moment closer to coming out to Victor, who would get excited and make a fuss, just like when Yuri had come out as gay. Okay, so the handknit rainbow scarf that Victor had draped around his neck the next day had been nice, but he did not need rainbow socks, rainbow shirts, rainbow bracelets, or the trillion other rainbow things that had been delivered to Yuri’s door by the time he got home from practice. Did Victor expect him to become a living pride parade? Not even he owned so many rainbow things. By tonight, Victor would be filling online carts with ace stuff, all of it waiting for Yuri by the time he got home. 

It was a lot more annoying than it sounded. It most definitely would not give him any sort of warm, fuzzy feelings, just like it hadn’t last time. Not one bit. 

Yuri decided to wait to tell him after they ordered. 

Then after their food arrived.

Now they were busy eating and Yuuri was telling everyone about a particularly hectic couple of days at the onsen, so it would be rude to interrupt. 

“Shall we get dessert?” Victor asked once their meal began to wind down. “We’ve all earned a cheat day.”

Otabek shot Yuri a questioning look, not pushing, more quietly asking if Yuri was going to come out tonight after all or if he’d chosen to wait. Yuri sighed and took Otabek’s hand beneath the table, clinging to it.

Eh, fuck it. 

“I’m ace.”

Yuuri and Victor stopped discussing what kind of cake to share and turned to him, Yuuri with surprise that soon turned to delighted pride and Victor with widening eyes. 

Oh, no. It was coming. _For fuck’s sake, Victor. Remember we’re in public!_

“That’s wonderful!” Victor scream whispered, barely keeping his voice from reaching a pitch high enough to shatter glass. “Is this what Yuuri and you talked about? I suspected, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

Yuri nodded. Victor squealed again, drawing a couple of confused glances from the next table. Yuri glared at him and Yuuri groaned, hissing Victor’s name. Victor deflated a little, murmuring, 

“Sorry, it’s just exciting.”

Fine. Yuri did feel gratified by Victor’s reaction, not that he’d ever feared that he’d react badly, but it was nice. He exchanged a glance with Otabek, who smiled at him supportively and squeezed his hand. 

“You are sure, then?” Yuuri asked, smiling at Yuri.

“I don’t see how I could not be by this point, honestly. Otabek and I talked it over. I showed him some of the links you gave me.”

Yuuri’s and Victor’s attention shifted to Otabek, Yuuri looking happily optimistic while Victor watched him like a protective momma bear ready to pounce should Otabek step the slightest bit out of line. For fuck’s sake! It had been the same when Yuri had first introduced Otabek as his boyfriend. Did Victor think he was Yuri’s honorary big brother or something? 

“I still have a lot to learn,” Otabek said, ignoring Victor, just like last time. 

“We both do,” Yuri said morosely.

“I will support you, Yuri, as much as I can. I knew about asexuality, but it’s still pretty new to me.”

“You’re already a step ahead of Victor when I told him,” Yuuri said. “He hadn’t heard of it.”

“I learned fast, though,” Victor protested. “I only wished that you’d told me sooner. And that I hadn’t messed up so many times.”

“Please do not go into detail,” Yuri implored.

“Of course not,” Yuuri said. “No details. And it’s okay to mess up. You didn’t know, Victor. Just like you two didn’t know. Yuri told me what happened, Otabek.”

“He told me,” Otabek said. “It’s okay. I wish I’d known earlier, too, but there was no way for Yuri to tell me when he didn’t know himself.”

And he felt like a fucking idiot for that. 

“I hardly know much now,” Yuri said. “I’m still confused as hell.”

“You’ll get there,” Yuuri told him. “Little by little. There’s no need to rush things.”

“Have you told anyone else?” Victor asked.

Yuri shook his head.

“I’ll get to it.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Yuuri said. 

“I know, but I don’t like being in the closet again. It’s uncomfortable. I want to be sure about some things first, though. It’s all so new. It feels like everything’s going really fast.”

Otabek switched Yuri’s hand from his left to his right so he could rub Yuri’s back. Yuri leaned into the touch, half falling on his shoulder, wishing that they were back at the hotel so they could cuddle in peace.

“Go at whatever pace you want,” Otabek said. “But slow is good sometimes.”

Yuri sighed and played with his fork, wishing that he could fast forward until he was okay and settled in his new identity and not have to deal with all the unpleasant growing pains of discovering who he was.

They did order dessert, now as a celebration of Yuri’s new identity, which Victor continued to make a big deal of, going on and on about all the fun facts he’d learned about ace culture. After much prodding, Yuri decided that he was a dragon ace, not a cake ace, giant slice of chocolate cake notwithstanding, and agreed to let Victor buy him and Yuuri matching ace dragon shirts just to get him to shut up. There was no way he’d wear it at the same time as Yuuri, though. 

Probably not. 

Yuuri did look charmed by the prospect, despite his embarrassment by Victor’s effusiveness. 

Maybe. He’d give it a maybe. That’s the best he was willing to do.

Okay, the design Victor picked was pretty rad. Yuuri had helped him a lot, so posing for one picture with matching shirts wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, he supposed. 

```````````````

After dinner, they parted ways, Yuri and Otabek heading to a comedic play they had found last minute discount tickets for online this morning, exactly the kind of light and silly thing they both needed to lose themselves in for a bit after all the emotional drama thanks to Yuri’s stupid adolescent angst that didn’t have the decency to shut up already. 

Later, they returned to Otabek’s room and sat around listening to music like in the old days. It was weird and wrong to think that of Yuri’s dramatic realization two days ago as marking a definite before and after in their relationship, which was new anyway, but it had. Yuri lied back on Otabek’s bed while Otabek sat at the edge, one leg folded under him to half face Yuri as an angsty alt rock band from the 90s Otabek had introduced him to played on his phone. Yuri watched him, a short strand of hair stroking his right temple, the lines of his collarbones peaking past the collar of his band t-shirt. The way his eyes narrowed just so in concentration as he replied to a text from his sister that he’d missed earlier. The knee that almost brushed against Yuri’s own on the mattress. 

How Otabek hadn’t done more than hold his hand, touch his shoulders, or kiss him for more than a moment unless Yuri initiated it. And he’d only done so once, when he left this room last night, a mere taste of what they’d done the night before, not enough, yet all he could handle then. Reaching out, he touched Otabek’s knee, drawing his attention. Yuri pursed his lips, frustrated at the silent question in Otabek’s eyes, the doubt he couldn’t hide from Yuri anymore, the fear that he would overstep if he stepped at all without Yuri’s explicit say so. 

“You can lie down beside me, you know,” Yuri said, hating how small and timid he sounded. “If you want. You don’t need to hold yourself at arms length. I won’t crumble.”

“I’m not—” 

Otabek cut himself off, frowning and lowering his head, knowing better than to finish his denial. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I have been.”

Putting his phone down, he lied down beside Yuri and faced him, not looking away from him this time, his gaze apologetic and determined. Yuri sucked in a nervous breath. He didn’t know why. He was just so scared that Otabek would back down on his word, even if he didn’t mean to, and leave because being with Yuri was too complicated and frustrating. Otabek raised his hand, placing it on Yuri’s face, his fingers warm and solid on Yuri’s skin. Yuri reached for him as well, his hold tentative on Otabek’s waist, barely keeping from tugging him flush against him, desperate to seal this rift that had grown between them. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Otabek said. “I don’t want a repeat of two nights ago.”

Yuri’s fingers tightened on Otabek’s waist and he scooched closer, nudging his feet against Otabek’s, knees pressing together. 

“That was my fault, not yours. Stop feeling bad about it.”

“I’m trying. It’s not so easy. I don’t want to put you in that position again. If we’d talked beforehand instead of jumping into things…”

Yuri drew his feet back, his hold on Otabek slackening, but as much as he wanted to curl up into himself in shame, he wouldn’t let himself let go completely.

“Kinda hard to do when my assumptions about myself were wrong,” he muttered bitterly. “Is that why you’re holding back? You want to talk everything out first? Is that what we’re going to do from now on? Stipulate what we’re going to do and not do beforehand? That sounds awful.”

Otabek’s hand fell to Yuri’s arm, rubbing and squeezing gently, reassuring, not seductive at all, but at least he was touching Yuri’s bare skin unprompted, gifting him his warmth.

“No. I’m not saying that. That does sound awful. I just want to avoid you having another panic attack.” Otabek’s face pinched, lips pressing into a tight line as he breathed sharply through his nose. “That really scared me. I was so scared for you, Yura. I was already worried that it might be too much, too soon, then you grabbed my pants, slipping your hand down my waist. I was about to stop you. I really had no intention of having sex with you then, even if you really had wanted it. I didn’t want to do it yet. This trip is the first time we’ve been in the same room since we became a couple. But I wasn’t fast enough. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe, Yura. You were in my arms panicking. I was sure it was my fault. Something about what we were doing terrified you, and it terrified me, too. I never want to see you like that again, for you to be so scared. You assumed you wanted something that you didn’t. You’re still figuring out what you do want. You don’t do that from one day to the next. I’ve been there. I know. I want you to be safe and happy. I’m sorry for holding back. I’m not pulling away from you, I promise. I think I want to go slower, though. Just for a bit.”

Coldness trickled through Yuri as Otabek spoke, followed swiftly by shame and guilt and the desperate need to do anything Otabek wanted to make sure that he knew how very much Yuri loved him, how he was the best person Yuri had ever met, how incredibly hard he would work to be worthy of his affection. All this time, he’d acted as if this was all about him, expecting that Otabek would either leave or follow his lead, too tangled in his own issues to realize what it must have been like for Otabek for Yuri to suddenly break down on his lap, of all places, when he had been holding him, while they were supposed to be having fun. No wonder Otabek felt guilty. Of course Yuri simply telling him to stop wasn’t going to make the feeling go away. 

Taking Otabek’s right hand in both of his, Yuri brought it up to his mouth and kissed his palm, pressing Otabek’s fingers to his face, breath shaking, his throat thick with emotion. He’d never done anything like this before, all of this so dizzyingly new, but this felt necessary, crucial. Otabek’s eyes widened. In surprise? Relief? Despair? Yuri didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuri said. “I didn’t think of that. I should have. Should have thought about how freaked out you must have been. I got too lost in my own head.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Of course I do. I may be an inconsiderate mess, but I know when I did wrong.”

Otabek snorted softly, barely more than a breath.

“You’re not inconsiderate.”

“Victor and Yakov would disagree.”

“Fine. You’re not inconsiderate to me.”

Otabek’s thumb stroked up and down Yuri’s arm. Yuri leaned into his warmth, fighting the urge to grab Otabek for only a second before giving in, tucking himself against his chest, head under Otabek’s chin, one arm wrapped fiercely around Otabek’s waist while continuing to hold Otabek’s hand with the other. Otabek hugged him, his arm a delightful weight around Yuri’s back. Tears pricked Yuri’s eyes as the ache in his throat swelled. He didn’t want to cry right now. He’d already cried so much. Why did he have to be so damn emotional all the time now?

“You don’t deny that I’m a mess,” Yuri said, his words muffled into Otabek’s chest.

“We’re both a mess. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s annoying.” Yuri raised his head, leaning back enough to meet Otabek’s eyes, which were disturbingly shiny. “I meant it. I’m sorry. I won’t keep acting as if it’s all about me.”

“But it is about you. You’re the one going through this.”

“And you’re the one dealing with me going through this. I should have thought of that. I’m your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have not thought of that.”

“It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself over it, alright? I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine eventually, okay?”

Yuri swallowed around the swelling in his throat. He nodded. 

“Okay. Let’s talk more, then. What do you want to do? Kiss? Cuddle?”

“I should be asking you that. Although you started cuddling me, so I already know the answer to that question.”

“It’s not just about what I want. I just said that. But yes, I do want to cuddle. And kiss you. And… We’ll see how it goes from there. You want to take things slow. That’d probably be the best for me, too.”

Yuri wasn’t so sure about that last part. He desperately wanted to slip his hands under Otabek’s shirt and press himself against him skin to skin, soaking in the full warmth of his body, but that would be too close into the territory that Otabek was associating with his panic attack. Even if it hadn’t been that which had set him off, Yuri wouldn’t worry him by going near it again so soon. 

“I want to kiss you, too,” Otabek said, a soft smile rising on his lips, gaze drifting to Yuri’s mouth. 

Slowly, Yuri leaned forward and did just that, pressing their lips together gently, carefully, feeling out the waters like they’d done the first time when they met at the airport last week, their flights thankfully arriving within a half hour of each other. Yuri’s first kiss had gone about as well as he’d expected. A nervous, woefully imperfect mess until Otabek had coaxed him to slow down and let him take the lead, which Yuri had surrendered to gratefully, thankful that at least one of them knew what they were doing. He’d rather it occurred somewhere other than a less transited corridor beside a vending machine, but after two months of declaring themselves boyfriends, they had been too eager to wait any longer. 

Their kiss was much smoother now, yet they were still stuck between the urge to push further or pull back in fear of being too much, both so hesitant that Yuri wanted to groan in frustration until Otabek cupped the back of his head and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another further up his cheek.

“Is this okay?” he asked, a concerned gaze flickering up to Yuri’s eyes, which he opened just in time for his breath to catch at how raw and vulnerable Otabek looked. He raised his hands, burying them in Otabek’s hair, brushing down his scalp in a gentle caress before nodding, too shaky to speak. Otabek continued kissing him, trailing a soft, heady line down Yuri’s jaw and up his cheek. There was nothing overtly suggestive about it. Otabek was gentle, exploratory, cherishing Yuri as if he were utterly precious and worthy of love. If he were capable of it, Yuri would have melted into the mattress. His hands slipped down Otabek’s back, leaning into him closer still, wrapping a leg over Otabek’s before realizing that this might be too forward. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, suddenly nervous, feeling weird about the role reversal. Before this conversation, he’d assumed that it would always be him holding Otabek back, the only one who would be uncomfortable with certain activities that most couples considered normal. It just went to show how much he really did have to learn. 

“Yeah,” Otabek breathed, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Just… be careful not to grind against me.”

Oh. 

Right! 

How were they going to navigate this? Yuri looked down without thinking about it, but they were too close to be able to see with Otabek’s dark wash jeans if he was… 

“Sorry,” Yuri cried out, face going red. “I forgot. I don’t know how. Are you…? I can’t tell.”

“I’m not.”

Then why was Otabek shifting suspiciously, a furious blush creeping up his cheeks? 

“It’s going to happen, though,” he continued, not quite looking at Yuri’s face, which was fine, because Yuri was also finding it difficult to look at him right now. “There’s no way to stop it. You know how the body has a mind of its own.”

“Yup. I know. No need to explain. I also… It happens. I don’t know if it would happen with you. What would it mean if it does happen with you?”

Sighing, Otabek dropped his head back against the pillow and scrubbed his hand over his hair. 

“It would mean that your, um, equipment’s working. It doesn’t have to mean anything else. Remember that post we read today? About the difference between sexual attraction, desire, and… There was something else, wasn’t there?”

“I can’t remember, either.”

Yuri slumped back as well, hugging himself. They’d been having such a lovely time. Why did he have to fuck it up by throwing his leg over Otabek like that? They had just said that they’d take it slow. How was that taking it slow? 

“I guess,” Yuri continued, “if I wake up with a hard-on after dreaming about going to the mall, it really doesn’t have to mean anything. Stupid thing has a mind of its own.”

“That it does. It’s annoying.”

“Super annoying.”

Yuri glared at the ceiling, wishing he could take back the last minute, but he was stuck here. Was every kiss with Otabek going to turn into an analytical discussion about his sexual thoughts, or lack of?

“Ignore whatever your body tells you,” Otabek said. “It lies. A lot. I used to get hardons for people I wasn’t even attracted to. It’s some weird, hormonal thing.”

“Hormones suck. Can’t they leave us alone, already?”

“From what I hear, they never do. They keep fucking with us until the end.”

“Shit.” Yuri growled at the ceiling. “So stupid. Okay. So if I get hard while we’re doing things, just ignore the damn thing and move on?”

“Yeah.”

“What if I suddenly do want to have sex?”

Otabek shot him a curious glance. 

“Then we’ll talk about it. Are you still holding out hope that you’ll want to have sex someday? You know I don’t mind.”

Yuri covered his face with his hands.

“I know. And I don’t know. I’m just spitballing. I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’ve never wanted to before. I just don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Otabek turned to face him.

“Neither of us does. That’s why he need to play it by ear. Maybe set ground rules? Would that help?”

Yuri lowered his hands and grabbed one of Otabek’s, cupping it in his fingers. 

“Maybe. Probably. Just nothing too regimented. That’d make it weird.”

“Agreed. Okay, so the first, obvious one. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or want to stop, you tell me. Don’t push yourself just because you think I want something.”

Yuri nodded.

“Same goes for you.”

Otabek nodded back. 

“Second rule,” Yuri said. “If either of us gets hard, we ignore it and move on. Unless one of us wants to stop.”

“Okay. Third rule. We ask before doing something new.”

Heat flooded Yuri’s cheeks. 

“Like me throwing my leg over you,” he muttered. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s fine. We needed to talk about this, anyway. Better get it over with now.”

“I guess. Yeah, you’re right. I’m kinda not in the mood for kissing anymore though.”

Yuri looked at Otabek apologetically. 

“That’s okay. Do you still want to cuddle?”

Nodding, Yuri turned back on his side and settled himself on Otabek’s chest, face tucked under his chin, one arm around his back. Otabek hugged him back and brushed Yuri’s hair, his fingertips gentle on Yuri’s scalp. Tension continued to grip Yuri for a while. It didn’t fully evaporate, but being in Otabek’s arms, being quietly cherished by him, helped immensely.

`````````````````

They continued to take it slow for the rest of the week, sticking to the rules to avoid further drama. Cuddling and kissing slowly progressed to over the clothes petting, above the waist only. Hands slipped underneath shirts once or twice, but they were both wary of going to the same level as the night that started it all. It was nice. It’s not like it wasn’t, and not as stilted as Yuri had feared, but it still felt too cautious, too wary, like one wrong move might break them at any moment. Otabek assured him that while the circumstances might be different, it had been the same in his past relationship. Gradually feeling stuff out, figuring out what your partner liked and disliked, messing up, talking about it, and trying again. Rushing ahead with assumptions and not mentioning anything, just like Yuri had done, had been a massive mistake. He’d always been too damn impulsive. Hadn’t he also pushed himself to do quads before his body was prepared for it? He’d been successful, but it could have fucked him up severely if Yakov hadn’t forced him to stop and Victor convinced him that he could win without them. They’d been right. Of course they’d been right. Yuri had been a cocky little shit that thought he could do anything and get away with it. He had won then by doing things the right way, and he would win now.

Not that being with Otabek was anything like a competition. It was completely different. But it helped to have a former experience to rely on, to reassure himself that the slow, incremental steps did work, that it was much better than rushing in and having something that he’d been yearning for with every fiber of his being blow up in his face. Otabek had experience with relationships. He knew what he was doing. Following his lead was working great so far. Slowly, Yuri was starting to feel more settled, both of them more comfortable initiating without having to ask every time because they knew that the other liked what they were about to do, that they’d be receptive to it. They continued to learn each other’s tells, the little expressions and body language that indicated when the other wanted to be kissed or held. It was nice not to feel on the precipice of messing up all the time. 

In the meantime, they continued to read up on ace stuff, together and separately. Some matters grew less confusing while others continued to be ridiculously dense and complicated. Yuri poured over his phone’s gallery, studying the sexy pictures he’d sent Otabek, trying to find something uncomfortable about them, but thankfully did not. He took a selfie wearing his performance pants and tank top while lying in bed, riding up his tank to show his belly, and stared at it for the longest time before sending it to Otabek. 

Was it too soon? Would Otabek fear that Yuri was pushing too hard, too fast again? He wasn’t. Taking his shirt off might have been. They hadn’t progressed to that stage again. But he wanted Otabek to see him, to enjoy this side of Yuri along with him. Yuri didn’t want to hide his body away from him, not all of it. He looked much too vulnerable in the pic despite his firm expression, those “soldier’s eyes” that Otabek admired glaring up at the camera. The hand that wasn’t holding the phone lied atop his chest, fingers curled on the fabric, scrunching it into raised lines leading down to his exposed skin. The lighting was awful, but he wasn’t going for a glamor shot here. He hardly had Victor’s modeling experience. It wasn’t about that. Yuri wasn’t sure what it was about. Grounding himself? Reminding himself that while he didn’t want sex, he was a sensual being who enjoyed being attractive and for his boyfriend to touch him? Redefining what these things meant? 

His earlier pics for Otabek had been intended to be sexy with the full meaning of the word, back when he’d thought that he’d yearned for Otabek in that way, when he’d thought that sensuality and sexuality were always indistinguishable one from the other, when he had no clue that you could pull apart the strands of actions and desires that society coded only in a sexual way and find a whole world of nuance that he suspected he’d only seen the tip of the iceberg of. And he’d been neck deep in asexual posts for days. It could take weeks. Months. Years. Wanting to kiss someone could be simply that, not a desire for anything else. Holding hands. Cuddling. Sharing a bed. Sliding a hand under your partner’s shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. Feeling your blood run hot with desire in your veins, your stupid nether regions reacting with their encoded, primal instinct, ready for that activity that Yuri’s brain screamed “Hell no!” at the very thought of. 

Where the fuck was the sense in that?! And it wasn’t just another idiotic “body betraying you because you’re a teen and that’s what adolescence does to you” thing. Oh, no. Not according to way too many posts he’d found online. It was a “stupid body being stupid because it’s stupid until the end of time” thing. Why the hell was he getting hard when he didn’t actually want to do anything with that infuriating body part? Why?! Even when he was alone it was more of a “get this thing to shut up so I can get on with my day” kind of thing. Not that it wasn’t nice. He totally understood why people went for that sort of thing. And sometimes he really did want to touch himself, but it was rare compared to every other teen he’d heard of, at least until this massive revelation occurred. And it was only ever a solitary activity. Picturing Otabek touching him there still made him feel sick. He really should stop imagining it, especially when they were fooling around, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that no such feelings were arising and he wasn’t missing them by focusing on something else. No, he wasn’t hoping that he’d turn out not be ace, after all. 

Not really. 

Maybe. 

God, it was hard enough being gay in this stupid world. He didn’t need an extra thing no one had heard of. 

It had been nice when Victor draped an ace scarf around his neck, though. The fussy sap hadn’t even waited to get home before ordering one from a crafter in Scotland with next day delivery. He’d probably started browsing online shops the instant that they left the restaurant. Yuri couldn’t complain, though, not when the same fuzzy feeling he’d gotten when Victor had given him the rainbow scarf swelled in his chest again as the fabric touched his skin, wrapping around his neck in cozy warmth. It was more of a shawl than a scarf, knit with soft, thin yarn that draped over his arms when he held it out to inspect it. Purple, black, grey, and white melted into each other in an ombre pattern, finishing in slender tassels at the ends. The fabric folded into a comfortable scarf around his neck, not bulky at all. It must have cost a fortune. It was even nicer than his rainbow scarf, which had lived in his travel bag since he’d gotten it. 

Maybe being part of an even tinier minority wasn’t all bad. At least the fashion perks were nice. 

The two couples spent most of their time to themselves, but Yuuri continued to ask how Yuri was doing and how things were progressing, which was nice, since he had no idea what he was doing half the time, no matter how much Otabek and he talked things out and set up ground rules. Yuri and Yuuri met up in the former’s room one afternoon to discuss some of the trillion questions that Yuri still had and to talk about not wanting sex while being with partners who enjoyed it. He learned a bit more about Victor’s and Yuuri’s relationship than he’d ever wanted to, but it was good. Helpful. It felt more real than blog posts by strangers. Yuuri and Victor had gone through the same struggles. The ground rules. The dread that they were messing up. Yuri had feared that Victor wouldn’t want to stick around, yet he’d been proven wrong. Victor had been afraid to touch Yuuri without asking permission first for every little thing, even more than Otabek. They weren’t that different, after all. Just like Otabek had assured him a dozen times, their struggles were normal. Ordinary. They could get through it. 

Otabek and Victor, for their part, had their own little meeting. Victor had offered Otabek an open ear if he needed to talk or had any questions. Otabek had told Yuri about it first, not that he needed his permission or anything. Although they had agreed to be as open about their relationship as they needed to be with their respective confidantes. Hiding anything would have eliminated the point, anyway. They didn’t ask what they’d spoken about, but Yuri wondered. What was it like from Otabek’s side of things? He insisted that he wasn’t frustrated, but what if he was? 

God, Yuri was being so stupid. He hadn’t been this insecure since he lost to Yuuri at the skating event at Hasetsu. He needed to stop fearing that Otabek would dump him. Otabek said so. Yuuri said so. If Victor knew about it, he would say so. Yuri needed to relax. Take it day by day. Not get overwhelmed every time he read another horror story online. 

Not all their time was spent navigating the minefield that had erupted within their already new and fragile relationship. Just like they’d planned before any of this happened, they went out and did regular, tourist things, like taking a ride on the London Eye, eating at historic pubs, and going to see a show at the Globe. Neither of them could understand half of what the actors said in their Shakespearean English, but the performances and costumes were fun to watch, although Yuri could have done without standing for two hours. Victor cornered them into doing one more double date two nights before Yuuri and he returned to Japan, which was the night before Yuri did. Since Yuuri had somehow convinced Victor to keep his over the top gushing to a minimum, Yuri didn’t mind too much this time around. 

The next day came. Yuuri and Victor said their good-byes before taking a cab to the airport. It was just one more day and night before Otabek returned to Kazhakstan and Yuri to Japan. It had come too soon. Even if Yuri hadn’t interrupted their holiday with an existential crisis, it was much too soon. In less than twenty-four hours, they would be reduced to no more than digital communication again, unable to touch, to kiss, to cuddle. Yuri needed those things. They both did. How could they go back to that after only two weeks together? 

They had discussed this a month ago. What would happen if their relationship didn’t fizzle after a short amount of time. One of them would have to move. It had been much to early to make that sort of decision yet. It still was. They hadn’t been together even three months. They’d both moved for their skating careers, so it wouldn’t be too hard of a decision, but if Yuri moved for him, he’d fear that Otabek would feel a sense of obligation, and on top of his completely irrational dread that Otabek might decide that he did want sex more than Yuri, after all, it was too much. Yuri couldn’t conceive of putting that kind of pressure on him. Nor could he ask Otabek to move for him. He’d only been back in his home country for two years. What could Yuri give him that would be worth leaving again? 

They didn’t speak of it as they did their last day of sightseeing that day, or when they had dinner at a pub near the Tower of London, or when they returned to the hotel to pack, each in their respective rooms before Otabek knocked on Yuri’s door and Yuri let him in. Yuri pulled him in for a kiss, far more enthusiastically than Otabek expected, for his boyfriend smiled against his mouth, cradling Yuri’s face in gentle, eager hands, his fingertips brushing into Yuri’s hair. 

“Is that all we’re going to do tonight?” he asked, pulling back to meet Yuri’s eyes.

Yuri studied his face, hesitant in case he’d come on too strong, but Otabek looked delighted at the prospect. Yuri grinned coquettishly.

“If you want. It’s our last night together for a while.”

One of Otabek’s hands settled at Yuri’s nape, a warm weight, face sobering in dismay.

“Too long a while.”

Yuri instantly regretted mentioning their imminent separation. He clung to Otabek more tightly, kissing him again.

“Let’s not talk about that now,” he said. “I don’t feel like being sad.”

“No one ever feels like being sad. But I agree.”

Taking Yuri’s hand, Otabek led him toward the bed. They had never returned to the couch, that piece of furniture tainted with toxic memories. Yuri sat on the bed first, scooting back to give Otabek space before tugging him down, kissing him the instant that Otabek touched down, arms wrapped around him, rubbing his back. Otabek did the same, leaning fervently into the kiss as he nudged Yuri’s feet with his own, toes brushing Yuri’s shin, hands gently gripping Yuri’s hair, stroking along his scalp. Their movements quickly grew as heated as that night, which gave rise to a flush of nerves in Yuri’s belly, but he shoved it aside. This was nothing like back then. They were communicating, not assuming. They knew what they liked now and what they didn’t. Most of it, anyway. If either of them went into forbidden territory, they would tell the other and stop immediately. It was okay. No impetuous eagerness was going to mess them up this time. 

That being said, now was the last chance to try something that Yuri had been yearning for nervously for a while, but it had felt too early, their exploration too fragile despite how simple it was.

“Otabek?” Yuri murmured against Otabek’s lips.

“Mm?”

“I’d like to take off my shirt.”

Otabek pulled back, but only far enough to meet Yuri’s eyes, studying his face for a second before nodding.

“That’s it, though?” Otabek asked.

Yuri tried to find any hint of hope or disappointment in his tone or voice, terrified of it, but all he could distinguish was Otabek’s honest desire to be clear on the matter, to know Yuri’s boundaries. 

“Yeah,” Yuri said, nodding, his heart lighter. “That’s it. I don’t mind if you take yours off. Not that you have to. I’m not pushing.”

“Just throwing it out there?” Otabek asked, a lopsided smirk on his face, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Yuri smiled back, glad not to have overstepped. It was a damn minefield with all this, but it felt so good when he got it right. Otabek nodded and sat up. Yuri’s breath froze in his mouth as Otabek gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, baring more skin than either of them ever had while fooling around. They had seen each other topless before while changing, but it had always been strictly practical, never intimate. Allowing himself a quick perusal of Otabek’s muscled chest, Yuri sat up as Otabek lied back, gazing silently up at Yuri, expectant, yet not demanding. Sucking in a surprisingly nervous breath, Yuri grabbed his own shirt and tugged it off. His hair fell across his face, obscuring his vision, the strands extra sensitive on his newly bared skin. He brushed his hair back behind his ears, tossing the shirt to the floor before turning back to Otabek, who continued to regard him in quiet appraisal, showing his appreciation but holding back. He must be holding back. He was too wary of upsetting Yuri, just like Yuri was of upsetting him. Yuri’s breath quickened, but he forced it to calm. His own willowy chest wasn’t much to look at compared to Otabek’s own, his torso stocky and well muscled, a mighty oak compared to Yuri’s blade of grass. Yet there was no doubt that Otabek found him beautiful. It was written all over his face every time he smiled at Yuri like he was doing now, so softly, the merest upturning of his lips, reassuring and enticing at once. 

Yuri sat on his knees over him, lips parting a moment before speaking.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, cheeks burning. 

Otabek nodded.

“Touch all you want.”

They’d already agreed to keep any touching only above the waist unless stipulated otherwise, so Yuri had no doubt about where he was allowed to go and where not to. Slowly, he raised his hand, hovering over Otabek before pressing down on the middle of his chest, skimming gently over his skin. His warmth oozed into Yuri’s own, stealing his breath before he regained it, only for it to grow shaky as he continued exploring, feeling the dark hairs scattered over Otabek’s chest, tracing the planes and hollows of his muscles, skirting hesitantly away from his nipples as if it would be too much before taking the plunge and cupping one against his palm and stroking down to brush on it with his thumb. 

Otabek’s breath hitched. Yuri froze, raising his hand, but Otabek shook his head, taking Yuri’s wrist. Yuri allowed him to tug his hand back down to his nipple. Otabek’s eyes sparkled with a heated yearning that made Yuri bite his bottom lip against a smirk of relief and delight. He flicked Otabek’s nipple again, loving how Otabek’s eyelids drooped low over his eyes and his breath quickened. He shivered, nerves fluttering in his stomach like butterflies.

“You can touch me too,” Yuri said, breathless, eager.

Otabek didn’t wait for Yuri to insist before raising a hand and placing it on Yuri’s waist, his grip loose and warm. The feel of it alone made Yuri’s breath shake. Otabek frowned.

“You okay?” he asked.

Yuri nodded quickly and continued to stroke Otabek to show him that nothing was wrong. Far from it. The complete opposite, actually.

“Excited, is all,” he said. 

Otabek’s frown vanished.

“I’m excited, too.”

He stroked up Yuri’s side, curling around his back and along his spine before trailing his fingers to Yuri’s front, pressing his hand flat against the very slight muscles of Yuri’s stomach. Otabek’s other hand soon followed. Yuri leaned over him to give him better access, touching Otabek with both hands, too, heat pooling in his skin and between his legs.

Fuck! Why now? He didn’t want to do a damn thing with _that_ , now or ever. Why did it have to fucking wake up?!

“Yura. It’s okay. Ignore it.”

“Easier said than done,” Yuri groaned, glaring at the offending body part that didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Yuri winced, realizing that he’d practically screamed it. “Sorry. No. I want to keep going. Unless you don’t want to?”

Otabek sat up, one hand still resting lightly on Yuri’s waist.

“I’m fine either way,” he said, but Yuri knew that he’d be disappointed if they stopped. Not mad at Yuri. He’d finally learned that. But disappointed all the same. 

In any case, Yuri really didn’t want to stop. He rested his hands on Otabek’s chest, but he didn’t move them. He dipped his head, embarrassed. 

Oh, Otabek had the same problem, too. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about having Otabek’s desire to have sex right there in front of him, for in his case, if Yuri had been willing, Otabek would have wanted to once he got over Yuri’s inexperience. 

It didn’t mean anything. Otabek wasn’t going to push. He wasn’t going to leave. It didn’t matter what his body was doing without his say so. Or Yuri’s for that matter. At least Otabek’s physical reaction made sense for him. Yuri’s was just stupid. 

Otabek’s hand skimmed over Yuri’s back, slow, gentle, a quiet invitation more than anything else. He stopped between Yuri’s shoulder blades, waiting for Yuri to make the next move. Shoving his ridiculous thoughts away, Yuri did just that. Stroking down Otabek’s chest, he slipped his hands to his back and pulled him into a hug. He blushed at the feel of Otabek flush against him, the warmth of his skin making him heady. Otabek returned the hug, one hand solid on Yuri’s back while the other trailed soft lines up and down, face resting atop Yuri’s head, pressing a kiss onto his hair. Sighing, Yuri nuzzled Otabek’s neck, relishing the feel of his soft skin and the gentle gasp that gusted from Otabek’s mouth. Otabek’s hands tightened as Yuri kissed along his collarbone and up his shoulder, tangling in Yuri’s hair, tugging just tightly enough to keep him close. The discomfort between Yuri’s legs continued to pester him, but he forced himself to ignore it. He wouldn’t ruin this moment. _It_ wouldn’t ruin this moment. He wouldn’t let it. 

As Yuri continued to explore Otabek’s shoulder, Otabek leaned down and kissed Yuri’s own shoulder, drawing a raw gasp that scraped at Yuri’s throat. He shivered, hold tightening on Otabek, who froze. 

“No,” Yuri cried. “Go on. I don’t want you to stop.”

The words tripped over themselves in a hurried mumble, but thankfully Otabek understood and kept nuzzling him, a gentle press of lips, his nose rubbing Yuri’s skin, which must be flushed red with how hot he felt. When he reached Yuri’s throat, Yuri whimpered, grabbing Otabek’s head and holding him down before Otabek dared think that Yuri wanted him to stop this time. It wasn’t hard enough for Otabek to be unable to wiggle free if he wanted to, but it got the message across. Otabek regaled Yuri’s tender neck with little nips that made Yuri moan with desire and comfort and joy. His breath heaved in his chest, focus so completely stolen by Otabek’s gentle caresses that he didn’t have the brain capacity to continue nuzzling Otabek. His body melted like putty in Otabek’s grasp, needing him, clinging to him with fierce want. He fell against Otabek’s shoulder, eyes shut, his world shrunken to the feel of Otabek’s body in his arms and the tender mouth mapping his neck from collarbone to earlobe. 

“Alright?” came Otabek’s soft, shaky whisper.

His hands had stopped moving over Yuri long ago, supporting him like a pole propping up a weak and pliant vine ever since. Yuri didn’t have the strength to nod. He didn’t have the strength to do anything other than sit in his arms and breathe and feel the strong body holding him up. 

“Uh huh,” he muttered, hoping that Otabek understood what he meant and that it hadn’t come out as some formless sound, for that’s how it sounded in his ears.

Otabek touched his head and kissed his hair, nose poking Yuri’s scalp. 

“Enough for tonight?” he asked.

 _Noooo_ , Yuri wanted to whine, but he was limp, his breath shaky, and his eyes didn’t want to open no matter how much he tried. The discomfort between his legs continued to pester him, but sleepiness had taken over his senses and he wanted to do nothing more than to lie down and sleep beside Otabek. 

Why not? It was their last night in London, after all. 

“It was nice,” Yuri mumbled. “But I’m tired now.”

That was barely intelligible. Otabek huffed softly, amused by Yuri’s enfeebled state. 

“Let’s lie down, then,” he said. 

_Good idea_ , Yuri meant to say, but nothing came out. Whatever. Talking was overrated. They dropped back on the bed, arms still around each other. Yuri forced his eyes to open so he could look at Otabek, who regarded him with a look of such heartwarming care and affection that Yuri’s breath stopped and a raw gasp left his throat. 

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out without thinking. He hadn’t planned on telling Otabek now, but Otabek was so kind and loving and handsome. Just look at that tender gaze widening with surprise, mouth opening wordlessly as he processed what Yuri had said. 

Oh. He had just said that, hadn’t he? Shit. It was too soon. They had only been together for two months. Sure, they’d known each other for longer than that. These feelings had definitely been building up since then. But still. Yuri shouldn’t have said it yet. Now he’d made it awkward. Shit!

A brilliant smile tugged at Otabek’s lips and he touched Yuri’s shoulder, comforting him from his sudden panic.

“It’s okay, Yura. No need to freak out. I wasn’t expecting to say this so soon, but I love you too.”

Yuri gasped.

“Really?”

Of course really. Otabek never lied about this kind of stuff. He wouldn’t say it just to spare Yuri’s feelings. 

“Really,” Otabek said, pressing a soft kiss to Yuri’s lips before drawing back to meet his eyes, which were still wide with joyous disbelief. “I’m happy you do too.”

“Of course I do.” Yuri grasped his face, leaning forward for another kiss. “You’re one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

“Same,” Otabek said once Yuri gave him the chance, which didn’t last long before Yuri was kissing him again.

“Hang on,” Otabek said after a while, pulling away and getting off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Yuri demanded, his voice too high pitched, needing Otabek back in his arms right now. 

The smirk that Otabek tossed him over his shoulder indicated that he knew exactly how desperate Yuri was. 

“I got you something,” he said. “It’s in my jacket.”

Picking it up from where it’d been dropped on the floor, Otabek returned swiftly to the bed and sat down, extracting something small from a side pocket. He held it out to Yuri, who sat beside him, brushing his hair behind his ears to get a good look at the item as he took it. An enamel pin of a cat sat on his palm, its fur white, grey, black… and purple. He gasped. 

“An ace cat?” he asked, gaze shooting up to Otabek, his heart fluttering in his chest like hummingbird wings, his mouth dry, too astounded to speak more than that until he dug the sharp tip of the cat’s tail into the meat of his thumb to rouse him from the happyrelievedomgIloveyou haze that had taken over his mind as he processed the wonderful gift that Otabek had given him, which went far beyond a simple pin. 

“It’s not as nice as the scarf Victor gave you,” Otabek said self-deprecatingly. “But you love cats, so I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“Forget the scarf,” Yuri said. “This is perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Fuck, this is so… If I hadn’t already told you I love you, I’d tell you now. Get over here.”

Grabbing him, Yuri kissed him again, clutching the pin in his hand. The rubber knob dug painfully into his palm, but he didn’t care.


	4. Chapter 4

Separating from Otabek the next day was agony. Yuri cursed the shrinking hours until he’d had to rip himself away from Otabek to get on his plane before they closed the gate. He sulked in his cramped seat, legs wiggling until they took off, turning the pin over and over in his hands. He would have put it on his bag already, but not until he got some super strong glue, for else he might lose it, and that was _not_ acceptable. He tried to sleep, but only managed a few hours, staring numbly at some Marvel films the rest of the time, already missing Otabek so much that it physically hurt. How the hell were they supposed to keep up this long distance thing? It had only been a few hours and he was already crawling out of his skin. 

He felt no better after he landed, messaging Otabek immediately. Otabek’s travel time had been much shorter, so he saw Yuri’s text right away. His “I miss you too” brought a bittersweet smile to Yuri’s face. He took the train to Hasetsu, where Yuuri was waiting for him at the station, having borrowed his parents’ car to pick him up. 

“How was your last day?” Yuuri asked once they were in the car after posing for pics and signing autographs for a few fans who had recognized them at the station. Only a couple of people had noticed Yuri in Hasetsu before Hot Springs on Ice, all their attention focused on their local hero and Victor “I make the sun come out in the morning” Nikiforov. Now that he’d won the Grand Prix, Yuri finally got his due measure of adulation in Hasetsu, even if he still lagged behind Yuuri.

“Good,” Yuri replied to Yuuri’s question, pulling up his messaging app to read Otabek’s text again. “Great, actually. We, uh, we exchanged I love yous.”

His voice grew soft, warm fuzzies bubbling in his chest as he recalled the heat of Otabek’s skin, his tender smile, the unmistakable burst of affection in the way he spoke and touched Yuri. 

“You did? That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. He also gave me an ace pin. It’s a cat.”

He had to wait until a stoplight to show it to Yuuri, a big, proud grin on his face, his stomach still filled with butterflies.

“It’s pretty,” Yuuri said. “It’s perfect for you. I’m so glad he’s so accepting. I thought he would be, but it’s nice to know for sure.”

“Yeah, no shit. I was a fucking mess. Could barely sleep some nights.” Yuri held the pin in his palm, tracing the lines of the outlines of the cat with his thumb. “We, uh, we actually did do some of the sensual stuff I wanted to do. It went a lot better this time around.” 

“That’s great.”

“Shirts off.” Yuri’s expression soured. “I got hard, though, which was really annoying.”

Yuuri nodded in tired agreement.

“I really wish there was a way to turn that off until I’m alone.”

“No kidding. Otabek told me to ignore it, too. He got hard, too. I think we managed that okay, but it’s irritating. I’m not sure how okay he really is ignoring it, if it’ll be too much one day.”

“Yurio.”

Yuri threw his head back against the cushion.

“I know, I know!” he groaned. “I’m being stupid. I trust Otabek. I really am trying not to worry about it. How’d you get this idiotic, irrational voice in your head to shut up? Mine keeps nagging at me. I want to stop worrying all the time. I want everything to be settled and done and okay.”

Yuuri grimaced.

“Well, about that, unfortunately, relationships never really settle like that.”

“How would you know? Victor’s your first one. That’s only been what, a year?”

“And three months. I guess you could say we’re settled, in a way, but something always comes up. We’re still learning so much about each other, and the worrying never really stops, you know. I kinda just have to tell my inner voice to shut up every time it makes me doubt.”

Sighing, Yuri stared at the rain falling on the window. That better not be a sign of anything. 

“It will get easier, though,” Yuuri continued. “It already is, right?”

Yuri shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess. Yes. We don’t ask permission for every little thing now. That’s a load off. I don’t know how we’re going to manage now, though. Being apart again.” Yuri fiddled with the pin in his hands, his earlier cheer all vanished now, a lumpy feeling swelling in his chest, weighing him down. “It was hard enough the first time.”

Yuuri didn’t have a good reply for that particular problem.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s too early to make any big decisions.”

“I wasn’t considering moving to Kazakhstan if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Even if I was, you couldn’t say anything about it. Victor left Russia for you after just one drunken night.”

It was ridiculous how little it took for Yuuri’s face to go as red as a tomato. Yuri wasn’t even teasing him. It was a simple fact. He hadn’t even mentioned how Victor had abandoned his career, too. And Yuri.

“It wasn’t like that,” Yuuri whined.

Yuri snorted.

“Fine. One drunken night and a very desperate video.”

“It was not desperate. I didn’t even know I was being filmed. But I see your point. Still. I think you should take things a little slower, take some time to consider.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do as I say, not as I do. Got it, dad.”

“That’s not…” Yuuri cut himself off with a groan and shook his head. “Never mind.”

As expected, a mountain of ace merch was sitting on Yuri’s bed when he arrived. He didn’t know how Victor expected him to wear half this stuff when he hadn’t come out to anyone other than him, Yuuri, and Otabek. Victor wasn’t pressuring him, though, he was just ridiculously enthusiastic about everything like the drama queen he was. Either way, Yuuri was out to his family and they were supportive. Yuri felt settled enough in his new identity that hiding his own asexuality when Yuuri put it out there didn’t make any sense. He’d been turning it over in his mind for a few days now. Coming out. Not to the entire world. Fuck no. There wasn’t enough energy left in him to put up with the uproar that would cause among his deranged fans, who he wasn’t allowed to block lest he incur the wrath of Lilia. It wasn’t worth it. Just to a few people. Not his grandfather. Not yet. He’d been okay with Yuri being gay, but he had no idea how to explain this one to him. And he was _not_ in the mood to talk to his grandad, of all people, about anything remotely pertaining to sex. The safe sex talk had been embarrassing enough to last him for a decade. He would tell him eventually. Of course he would. Just not now. 

Although it was weird to be telling Yuuri’s family and friends before his own, but he did live with them, so it was practical. Besides, he did want to wear the dragon ace shirt. 

As expected, they made a fuss over him. Not as much of one as Victor had made, thank God. Some people managed to have some sense. Did Victor’s fans have any idea that their idol was a deranged loon who delighted in torturing his skaters by making them dress up in matching shirts and taking an infuriating amount of pictures of them wearing every item from the ginormous piles he’d bought them? Yuri worked Otabek’s pin into every shot he could. At least having it close helped him feel a little less like a mannequin. Yuuri felt just as awkward about the whole thing, but he didn’t dare say anything to his precious fiancé so he wouldn’t be sad, the coward.

Yuri might have gotten a tiny bit into the whole thing by the end. Maybe. Having a pic of him and Yuuri in matching ace scarves with Makkachin sitting between them wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It was a nice pic, actually. Yuri sent it to Otabek, who replied with a smiley face and thumbs up, saying that they looked great. He sent him a few more. Five minutes later, Otabek sent him a screenshot of his home screen. He’d set the pic of Yuri wearing the pin on his scarf as his wallpaper. Warmth blossomed in Yuri’s chest and his breath clenched in his chest, eyes growing wet. He only just shook off his emotions before he started bawling in front of everyone. 

Around midnight, after tumbling into bed for a couple of sleepless hours, on and off his phone, he came out in the group chat that Sara Crispino had set up last year. She hadn’t even asked permission before adding every skater she knew from the senior men’s division in it to “keep in touch”. She wasn’t even one of them. What the hell? Yet Yuri hadn’t gotten around to leaving the group. It wasn’t terrible. Some good conversations came up every once in a while, no thanks to Christophe’s lewd mind. He had made a sickeningly encouraging comment about Yuri’s exhibition skate. Nothing too inappropriate. Christophe wasn’t that kind of guy, his over the top routines notwithstanding. It hadn’t made Yuri uncomfortable or anything. He’d just rolled his eyes. Out of all the disasters going on, a racy comment from Christophe was the least of his problems. 

Still, he couldn’t help remembering it now, or the other comments about how “sexy” his routine was as he entered the words _So it turns out I’m asexual_ into the message box.

He immediately deleted it, retyping simply I’m asexual.

He frowned at the phone. That was too sparse. 

_I can’t believe I have to come out again but I recently realized that I’m asexual. I’m still gay I just have an extra thing now ___

__He deleted the last bit, leaving it at “I’m still gay” before sending it off. Turning his phone off, he dropped it on the floor and rolled over, trying not to think about it and get some sleep._ _

__Sleeping finally happened. He woke up past 11am, body sore and sluggish from jet lag, but the instant he opened his eyes, he lunged for his phone, half falling to the floor in his haste._ _

__“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered as the phone took its sweet time to turn on and load his notifications._ _

__Eighty-six unread messages?! What the hell? Were they discussing his lack of sex life or what? Quickly loading the messaging app, he scrolled until he found his last text and started reading. It was a flurry of surprised and supportive comments. The knot in his gut loosened and he released the breath he’d been holding, falling back on the bed. Curling up on his side, he scrolled through the messages. Yuuri, and Victor had commented, too. Only Otabek was missing. No doubt it’d be a few hours yet before he saw this between the time difference and sleeping in. Victor had already taken care of clarifying, as if it weren’t immensely obvious, that yes, Otabek did know. Did JJ really expect Yuri to come out in a group chat before he told his boyfriend? Idiot._ _

__The chat went on a tangent after Victor (of course) posted some of the pics he’d taken last night, which had prompted some of the other queer members of the group to post their own selfies showcasing their queer gear. There was cooing over the cat pin ( _So romantic!_ Sara wrote), a couple of links to Etsy stores of queer merch, some talk about crafting, and demands for Yuri to wake up and talk to them already._ _

__God, Yuri was glad he’d turned the phone off._ _

___I was on two different planes for fifteen hours!_ he wrote. _Can’t a man get some sleep??__ _

___Thanks for not being dicks about this. It’s nice._ _ _

___Of course!_ Mila wrote not even a minute later. _We’re proud of you!__ _

__“I don’t need you to be proud of me,” Yuri muttered, but there was no bite in it. That weird, lumpy feeling that he’d felt when Victor had gushed over him at the restaurant was back. Not uncomfortable, but pleased. It really was nice not to be rejected over something that most people would have a hard time wrapping their heads around. Yuuri had already laid the groundwork by coming out himself almost a year ago. He’d already fielded all the awkward questions so Yuri didn’t have to. Yuri was doubly thankful to him for having put up with that. Yuri himself had said some awkward things, which he now kicked himself about._ _

__How could he know that asexuality was a thing for so long and not see it in himself? What the fuck? Sure, he’d been oblivious about stuff before, but this was ridiculous. Stupid brain._ _

___Thanks guys,_ he wrote in the chat. _I’m not coming out to the world at large though. Not yet anyway so don’t say anything about it please__ _

___No prob_ JJ said._ _

___You’re awake!_ Victor said. _Come down and have breakfast. We saved some for you__ _

___Awww_ , Sara said. _I love how domestic you boys are!__ _

___Shut up_ , Yuri wrote, groaning before peeling himself off the bed. _ _

___I’m jealous_ , Christophe wrote. _ _

___Come on over!_ Victor wrote._ _

___Please don’t_ , Yuri wrote. _ _

___I know you love me. Congrats on figuring yourself out, man._ _ _

__Yuri stared at the message for a moment before replying, a smile tugging on his lips._ _

___Thanks_ _ _

__``````````````_ _

__During the coming days, the jitters from coming out faded from his system and his new identity ceased feeling so novel and odd on his skin. He continued sending Otabek sexy pics, no longer feeling awkward about it as Otabek reciprocated with ones of his own, none of them too skimpy or risqué, still testing the boundaries. But it made Yuri feel good to look attractive, for his boyfriend to find him attractive without it having to be about _that_. Which Otabek might be thinking about anyway. It’s not like he would police his thoughts. But not having it out in the open was such a load off. _ _

__What wasn’t a load off was Yuri’s image in the public sphere. He’d never given a fuck about it, but as Victor kept hammering into his head, he didn’t have the luxury of not caring about it, especially not in Seniors. He’d been too cavalier in the last year as it was, even with a Grand Prix win under his belt. But it wasn’t smiling for the camera or modeling for magazine pictures that worried him. It was the “sexy”, “flirtatious”, “seductive” comments about his skating that nagged at him, which was annoying. That was exactly what he’d been going for, but it felt wrong now, like using a word incorrectly. What he’d intended was false, not how he wished to express himself out in the world._ _

__It was just a performance. It didn’t have to mean anything, much less be what the audience thought it was. Just look at Yuuri and his Eros routine. The man had been thinking about food, for fuck’s sake. But it ate at Yuri. He didn’t want to skate a lie. He wanted to put himself, his real self, out there. Not necessarily in both performances, but at least one of them. That’s what his exhibition skate had been about, until he realized it wasn’t, then thought about it some more and came to the conclusion that it was still very much him, only that the intention behind it was irrevocably changed, which made a massive difference even though he wouldn’t change anything about the actual performance._ _

__Yet he still yearned to… He didn’t know. Do something. Say something. Punch people in the face with his true self like Yuuri did when he skated for Victor. He needed this. Having people assume this about him when it was so fundamentally wrong itched at him, an explosive rash under his skin._ _

__He could just come out. Post “I’m asexual” on his Insta for all the world to see. But that would be boring. Since when did Yuri Plisetsky do boring?_ _

__“I want my free skate to be about realizing I’m ace,” he announced at one of their training sessions._ _

__“That’s a great idea,” Yuuri said, his face lighting up with a smile._ _

__Victor, on the other hand, cooed like the walking embarrassment he was._ _

__“That’s an amazing idea, Yura! Does this mean you’re comfortable with everyone knowing now?” He rested a finger against his chin, eyes narrowing as he adopted his “serious coach” expression. “What would be a good song for this? Maybe—”_ _

__“Otabek’s band is making me a song,” Yuri interrupted. “It’s going to take a little while. I just asked him last night.”_ _

__“Is it going to be like Welcome to the Madness?” Yuuri asked, a silent question in his eyes._ _

__So he’d figured out what Yuri was going for, huh? Yuri nodded._ _

__“I don’t feel like making some grand declaration online about being ace, but I don’t want to hide in the closet again.”_ _

__“You realize,” Victor said, narrowing his eyes with glee, “that a free skate in global competitions is a much grander declaration than writing a post on Twitter, don’t you?”_ _

__Yuri glared at him._ _

__“Shut up,” he grumbled. “Whatever. I don’t want to hide myself away, okay? Or let people think that I’m some sex god when I don’t want anything to do with it.”_ _

__“No one thinks that.”_ _

__“Hell yeah they do, Nikiforov. You think you’re the only skater people are salivating over? Just google my name, idiot. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’ve been working off wrong assumptions for way too damn long because society makes everything about sex and I don’t want people to look at me and Welcome to the Madness and keep assuming things about me. I want to put myself out there, okay? Not just put on an act and keep playing along. Like Yuuri did with the Eros routine. Only, yeah, the sex part of that was an act, but you know what I mean. The core of it wasn’t. That’s what I’m trying to get at. And no one has ever done a routine about this before. I’ll be the first. And I will win with it.”_ _

__Christ, why were they looking at him like that?! Take those damn, proud expressions off! They made him feel all gooey inside. He hated it._ _

__Only he didn’t actually hate it, which made him feel weird and soft and wanting a hug and he was supposed to be the Ice Tiger of Russia, damn it. Never mind that everyone called him the Fairy of Russia._ _

__Victor hugged him. Why the—_ _

__Oh, the hell with it._ _

__“Our little boy is growing up!” Victor crooned. “You make me so proud!”_ _

__Yuri growled, squirming against his tentacle arms._ _

__“Get off me!”_ _

__````````````````_ _

__Otabek sent him the completed song much faster than Yuri had anticipated. He asked Yuri for notes, but it was perfect. More than perfect. Otabek, his loving, wonderful boyfriend, the most supportive and understanding partner in the world, had composed a song for his public coming out. Victor was right. This was a much grander gesture than coming out online, and Yuri would embrace the hell out of it. The next few weeks were spent crafting and perfecting his routine, which was a bit harder to pin down than he’d thought. He knew what he wanted to say, and translating wordless thoughts and feelings into dance was what he did for a living, but trying to figure out how to express the thorny muddle that was figuring out his identity was like wading through a swamp with only faint moonlight to guide him. He went through chart after chart, wrote word clouds, went over an outline of the key points that absolutely must be included with Otabek and Yuuri, cheering when he got something right and growling when it felt too off or too much or not enough. He’d choreographed Welcome to the Madness in one night, damn it. He could do this. He would do this. He would show the world who he was with his body and soul and they would love him for it, their cheers drowning out any chance his competition had at reaching the peak of the podium._ _

__Little by little, wobbly step by wobbly step, he polished a cracked and sloppy routine that tried to do much at once into an elegant, evocative performance that said exactly what screamed in his bones while matching Otabek’s song perfectly. Otabek loved it. Yuuri loved it. Victor loved it, even if his praise came showered with a litany of pitfalls to avoid and reminders of Yuri’s weak spots so he wouldn’t get too cocky. It was like talking to a Yakov clone._ _

__The first qualifying competition finally came around. Otabek wasn’t in this one, but he flew over to cheer on Yuri and spend some time with him, even if it was only a couple of nights since he had to prepare for his own competition, which was coming up soon. Yuri didn’t have time to meet him at the airport and Otabek didn’t want to distract him by coming over straight to the ice rink, so Yuri had to struggle to stamp down his impatience as he practiced his short program. The instant Victor let him go, Yuri ran to the hotel, not bothering to take a cab, uncaring of the soreness in his feet and legs as he rushed through the hotel’s circular doors and into an elevator, left foot jostling rhythmically against the floor, tapping the walls with jittery fingers until the elevator reached the sixth floor and the doors opened way too damn slowly._ _

__He got a glare for running down the corridor, as if he gave a shit. Otabek opened his door within seconds of Yuri knocking on it, a smile on his face, his eyes haggard from the flight but happy to see Yuri, who only just kept himself from jumping and wrapping him up with all four limbs. He did hug and tug him forward into a kiss, which Otabek returned eagerly, a greeting half swallowed by Yuri’s mouth. He practically moaned at the heavenly feel of Otabek pressed against him, his hands firm and tender on Yuri’s back, guiding him forward into the room so the door could shut behind Yuri. Otabek’s hair was just as soft as he remembered. Longer than the last time they’d seen each other too. Otabek had mentioned needing to get a hair cut before his competition, but Yuri was glad that he’d held off on a trim, delighting in weaving his fingers through the dark strands._ _

__“I missed you,” Otabek murmured into Yuri’s lips, nudging Yuri’s nose with his own._ _

__“God, me too. I came as fast as I could. Can we sit down? I ran all the way here.”_ _

__Otabek narrowed his eyes at him._ _

__“You ran—” Hr shook his head with a fond smile. “I probably would have done the same. Come on.”_ _

__They didn’t do anything too heated that night since they were both wiped out from their respective long days, but Yuri soaked up all of Otabek’s body warmth that he could get as they cuddled in bed. Yuri showed him videos of some last minute refinements to his short program. Otabek showed him some of his own. Seeing his boyfriend’s amazing skating skills put Yuri in the mood for another make out session and phones were quickly tossed aside. He didn’t admit it, but he was secretly thrilled that there was no awkwardness between them. His stupid mind had worried that the months apart might have cooled down things between them, as much as they had yearned to be together, but it wasn’t so. They resumed their method of asking for permission when unsure, backtracking on some of the actions that had previously been approved in case something had changed in their time apart, especially from Otabek’s part. Yuri warmed in more ways than one when Otabek asked if he could slip his hand up Yuri’s shirt. He swiftly yanked it off, curling up on Otabek’s chest to kiss his neck before settling into his arms, grinning as Otabek rubbed his back and pressed soft kisses on his forehead._ _

__Yuri got second place in the short program, losing out to JJ by two points, the bastard. He’d beat him with his free program. He wouldn’t let JJ take the gold away from him again, especially not with the most personal routine Yuri had ever done in his life. Victory would be his, damn it all._ _

__The day of the free program finally came around, giving rise to a pummeling of nerves that Yuri hadn’t experienced since this whole mess started. Today, he’d bare himself to the world with a performance that would tax his limits to the utmost to not sell short one of the most frustrating and confusing moments of self-realization in his life. It should also score him more points than JJ if he landed every jump. He could do this. He would do this._ _

__His costume was simple. He’d toyed with the idea of dressing only in ace colors, but that was too glaringly obvious. He chose something close to what he’d worn for Welcome to the Madness since this routine was an unwitting sequel to that one. He kept the black pants and sunglasses, but went with a wine red jacket and a white tank top, this one adhering to his skin rather than hanging lose like the other one._ _

__Victor accompanied Yuri into the stadium as his coach, but half of Yuri’s attention was on Otabek, who stood at the opposite side of the rink, off the ice this time, a subtle presence for the audience to notice when the time came. Their eyes met. Otabek flashed him a smile and a thumbs up that eased some of the nerves thrumming under Yuri’s skin._ _

__“Ready?” Victor asked him, his smile halfway between teasing and encouraging._ _

__Yuri grunted, nodding brusquely as he removed his skate guards and stepped onto the ice. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he skated to the center of the rink, the announcer’s voice a blur melding with the dull roar of the chatting crowd surrounding him on all sides. Casting one last smile at Otabek, Yuri turned his back and took his starting position._ _

__The next minute was a blur of motion, focused on completing every step while his heart thundered in his chest and he struggled to keep his breath under control with the iron clad discipline he’d perfected years ago. The music beat a pulsating rhythm as he began a seductive dance around the rink, half pulling the jacket off his back before stopping himself abruptly with a startled look as the music shuddered. Pressing the jacket over his torso, he sank into a tight, crouching spin low on the ice before rising into a frenetic dance, acting uncertain, enacting confused motions before he turned to Otabek and the music relaxed into a low beat. Slowly, he pulled himself together, his earlier uncertainty swept away as the music rose again, punctuating his moves as they grew more confident, more sweeping. He yanked the jacket down to his elbows and bent back, letting the tank top ride up his midriff before straightening into position for his final jump, a Salchow. He landed perfectly. Lungs burning, he pushed on through the last piece, carried off by the pounding music and the heat beating inside his body. Off came the jacket, thrown furiously at Otabek, revealing a white tiger embroidered on the back of his top, its stripes grey, black, and purple. A murmur rose through the crowd as he raised his arms before sliding into his last spin and finishing with his head arched back, arms stretched out at his sides, chest heaving._ _

__The roar of applause exploded around him. Limbs trembling, he kept his pose only as long as necessary before falling forward, gulping in air, hands braced on his thighs. His lungs burned, breath coming so hard and fast that it choked him. Coughing, he struggled to suppress the trembling in his overexerted limbs as he forced himself to straighten up and stretch his arms out one more time to the crowd, barely seeing them as he began skating towards the kiss and cry. Frantically, he searched for Otabek, but he wasn’t where he’d left him._ _

__Oh. He was at the kiss and cry already, along with Victor and Yuuri. With the scattered remains of his energy, Yuri rushed toward him, a smile breaking on his face at seeing Otabek waiting for him at the center of the exit. Yuri fell into his arms and kissed him. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t make the same sappy gesture that Victor had made with Yuuri, but fuck it. How could he possibly not kiss Otabek in this moment? Otabek held him gently, keeping him from falling forward as he returned the kiss._ _

__“That was incredible, Yura,” Otabek murmured against his lips._ _

__Elation and realization about what Yuri had just done thrummed through his body. He hadn’t flubbled anything. Nothing. This was his best performance since his first senior Grand Prix. Victor better as hell not find anything to criticize about it right now. And he’d done it with a subject so intimately personal that familiar jitters sparked all over him again as it sank in that someone in the crowd was putting the pieces together right now. He had scheduled a Twitter post to go live right before arriving at the rink. It would post any moment now if it hadn’t already. His performance would be too obscure for most people to figure out, so he wanted to make it crystal clear._ _

__At some point, Victor interrupted them because they had to go to the kiss and cry. Yuuri handed him his skate guards, then gave him a short hug as Yuri sat on a bench._ _

__“That was wonderful,” Yuuri said, smiling softly. “Really beautiful.”_ _

__Pride and satisfaction intermingled in Yuri’s belly. He was hardly able to think with all the emotions firing in his brain, buoying his body up while it wished to collapse with exhaustion. Victor led him to the kiss and cry. More like dragged him there with the way he was clinging to him in a half hug with his arm around Yuri’s shoulders, gushing about how he teared up watching Yuri skate, not giving a single criticism for once in his life, probably because of what this specific performance represented. Thank God for that. Victor wouldn’t be able to hold back forever, but Yuri didn’t have the energy to care. He fell more than sat down, Victor still stuck to him, the giant lamprey. Yuri only half heard what he was telling him as he took a long gulp of water from a bottle someone had handed him, then grabbed the Makkachin tissue plush and hugged it to his chest as they waited for the judges to finish his score._ _

__“209.68.”_ _

__Yes! Yuri pumped his fists in the air, rising to his feet before his wobbly legs forced him back down. Victor grabbed him again, but Yuri didn’t care. Three performances remained to be skated, including JJ’s, but Yuri had enough points to beat him unless JJ did something utterly spectacular. A massive grin erupted across his face, staying long enough to make his cheeks hurt._ _

__As soon as he was able to, he grabbed his phone, not even paying attention to the next skater as he jerkily tapped on his notifications. Cheers of delight from his skater chat group. Hundreds of reactions already to his Twitter post. He didn’t read any of them, not wanting to run into any acephobes, but the number of likes was high enough to indicate that at least a fair number of his fans weren’t bigots. Not that he cared what they thought, especially not the crazy stalkers. But, well, they weren’t all assholes. And it had been scary enough coming out as gay. He didn’t need more shit on his plate. The press articles would come next. The inevitable comparisons to Yuuri would pop up again, since they had nothing better to do, probably along with some idiotic headline._ _

__Yuri beat JJ by two points, taking the gold, yet that wasn’t what he was happiest about that night. His grandfather called him after the ceremony was over. Yuri yanked himself away from the bevy of people congratulating him to take the call. He’d come out to his grandad a few days ago, his stomach tied up in knots, a paper filled with harried notes in his hands to make sure he didn’t miss anything in his explanation of asexuality, only for his grandad to tell him that he’d looked up the term when he’d learned that Yuuri, someone Yuri was so close to, was ace. An amazed breath burst from Yuri’s lungs. He almost cried right there, the nervous moths chomping at his guts evaporating as he sank against the chair he was sitting on, almost crashing to the floor with how limp he’d become. There were still some things he had to explain, especially concerning his own place in the ace spectrum, but he was so ecstatic and relieved to be saved from an awkward, drawn out explanation filled with uncomfortable silences and doubtful comments that he happily answered every question his grandad had with wild enthusiasm, grinning all the while. He let him know about his skating routine and his grandad promised to watch it._ _

__He loved it. His grandad loved his routine. He called it his favorite one. It didn’t matter whether he was saying that to make Yuri happy or not. Yuri knew by now when his enjoyment was genuine, and this was._ _

__He felt light the rest of the night, through the short celebration in Yuuri’s and Victor’s room and when he cuddled with Otabek afterward, like he was floating an inch off the floor, the soreness in his limbs muffled under the relief and satisfaction gushing inside him. They still had to figure out their living situations and how that affected their relationship. And there were still so many kinks that Yuri had to work out within himself, so many sharp edges of confusion and doubt only slowly being smoothed down with every baby step he took touching Otabek, talking things out, modeling clothes in the mirror, and working on regaining his full self-confidence as he strode with a bold gait and alluring clothes down the street, but he would get there. They would get there. Otabek, Yuuri, Victor, his grandad, they all said so. He was Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia. He could do this. He’d work himself out and be greater than ever before._ _


End file.
